


the execution of all things

by luckycharge (makkapitew)



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Live Action TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Gunshot Wounds, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Not A Fix-It, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Slow Burn, autistic characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 42,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23034268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makkapitew/pseuds/luckycharge
Summary: "I want to be soft, to say here is my underbelly and I want you to hold the knife, but I don’t know what I want you to do: plunge or mercy. I deserve both. I want to hold and be held." – Nicole HomerA world where Light is shot by Higuchi at the end of episode 7 and doesn't regain his memories or the Note.
Relationships: L/Yagami Light
Comments: 121
Kudos: 354





	1. the ordeal of being known

**Author's Note:**

> Compliant to the 2015 TV drama up until the end of episode 7, with one exception–Near and Mello are separated into siblings, not one person.

**ACT 1:**

_the ordeal of being known_

**CHAPTER 1**

_You’re going to die_

_in your best friend’s arms._

_And you play along because it’s funny, because it’s written down,_

_you’ve memorized it,_

_it’s all you know._

_I say the phrases that keep it all going,_

_and everybody plays along._

_Imagine:_

_Someone’s pulling a gun, and you’re jumping into the middle of it._

_You didn’t think you’d feel this way._

– Richard Siken, “Crush”

* * *

The world spins in disjointed array as Light falls to the ground, shiny black metal disappearing from his vision and giving way to white fabric, the stained grey concrete of the sidewalk, and then finally the darkened expanse of the evening sky. 

As he lies there, the ear-shattering noise of what must be another gunshot over police sirens playing counterpoint to the erratic red-blue flashing of the lights overhead, he considers that perhaps coming in person to arrest Higuchi was a bad idea. 

The glittering expanse of stars that fades in and out of his vision is blocked altogether, first by a messy shock of black hair and then two eyes, white visible all the way around black, set into a face contorted into a mask of concern. L’s mouth is moving, eyes blown wide with some foreign emotion–surprise? Shock? Anxiety? Light isn’t able to place it, not at this exact moment–and it is only after staring at the movement of his lips for some time that Light realizes that L is speaking.

“–very heroic of you, Light. Are you listening to me?”

Light understands that L is waiting for some kind of confirmation. 

“Yes,” he answers, only a little dishonestly.

Light dimly becomes aware of a feeling of pressure in his back. It’s accompanied by a sharp pain in his chest, which makes very little sense to him in this moment.

“Where is Higuchi?” Light asks, deciding to put a pin in it. 

Now, L looks away, peering over his shoulder. He hasn’t had much time to assess the situation either, it seems, seeing as though Light tackled him to the ground. “He has been subdued, I believe,” L comments, peering over at the crowd of policemen.

Holding out a hand, L offers to help Light up, an offer which Light moves to accept. It’s when he’s in the process of sitting up, however, that a sharp bolt of pain shoots through his chest that has him gasping; and then he can’t quite catch his breath again. L’s eyes widen in surprise as Light presses his hand to his chest, exerting a pressure that does nothing to abate the pain he’s feeling. 

“Are you all right?” L asks, brows furrowing. 

Light feels completely and utterly out of breath. “I don’t know,” he wheezes. There is a building burning feeling in his back, spreading into his chest and throat. It feels tight, like when flu season comes and he spends days calling in sick to work, losing half of his paycheck and feeling utterly terrible; it feels like there’s something in his lungs keeping them from breathing in all of the way.

“Perhaps we should call someone,” L manages to suggest at the exact moment that Light coughs. A fine mist of red splatters L, speckling his face and his shirt, his pristine white shirt illuminated in red and then blue and then red again in the police lights, the shirt that he sheds if even the suggestion of impurity touches it. His mouth falls open in shock, a wide O that would be comical if not for the fact that he’s just been sprayed with Light’s blood. 

They hang in this moment for a few heartbeats, staring at each other, and then L begins moving. He reaches forward, hands all over Light, patting down his deep black jacket. When he passes his hand over Light’s back, he recoils, looking down at a hand stained red. 

“You were shot?” L asks incredulously, as though it’s a question Light has any good answer for. His mouth has taken on a metallic tang, presumably from blood. L doesn’t wait for an answer; Light is unceremoniously manhandled onto his side before he has room to argue. A pressure exerted perpendicular to the slope of his back suggests that L is pressing on his wound.

Things progress very quickly from here; Light is very quickly surrounded by the police, his father’s face coming into focus as he steps into view overhead. He and L exchange words, something about Higuchi, but Light doesn’t really hear them. He had forgotten his father was present, watching as Light managed to get himself shot, and now he is going to stand by and watch as Light bleeds out onto the sidewalk. 

If he dies here, who is going to take care of Sayu?

It’s a horrible thought, equally treacherous for the fact that his father is standing right above him–he wants to believe that Soichiro would step up, to be there for her where he hadn’t been for him, but a bolt of unexpected and unwelcome resentment stabs him through the chest at the thought and he knows that it will be just like his mother, and his sister is going to be alone and he’ll have spent his life giving things up for nothing at all.

Light is distantly aware of L’s voice above him, but he can’t hear it over a sudden rushing in his ears. Is that his heartbeat, or his breathing?

He focuses on the process of inhaling, and feels his breath hitch as he tries not to scream or to sob. 

L’s voice is like water above him, distant and distorted and unintelligible even if he were trying to listen. His father has dropped to his knees as well, but is speaking into a phone and not to him. 

He exhales. He does not make a sound.

The last coherent thought Light has is that this is it, he’s going to die on the ground and leave Sayu and nobody’s ever going to believe that he wasn’t the world’s most prolific single mass murderer when really all he ever did was spend his life halfheartedly studying economics because it was painfully, cripplingly boring and he wanted to spend his life in stability instead of doing anything he ever loved. 

This is a poor time for such a realization, when he’s about to die, but he’s saved from this crisis by blissful, thoughtless unconsciousness. The last thing he sees is L’s face, stricken with something like panic.

* * *

When he wakes, it’s set to the tune of a heartbeat monitor and a constant, steady beeping that just serves to remind him that he is, in fact, alive. That and the fact that he’s freezing.

Peeled open eyelids reveal that Light is lying in a hospital bed, the surrounding room dimly lit by overhead lights from the corridor outside but otherwise darkened for the night. Light shifts, pushing himself upright before being stopped by a distant ache in his side. When he looks down, there is a tube disappearing under his blankets; he pushes them down to reveal that it leads underneath a series of bandages wrapped around his chest. The other side is connected to a small machine on the floor that holds a few glass tubes filled with red liquid. It hums, just loud enough to be heard.

Movement to his right draws his attention to the figure curled in a chair beside his bed. L is resting in his own particular way in the armchair beside him, sitting sideways with his legs thrown over the arm. He’s looking at a tablet in his lap, but when Light moves he snaps to attention and sits up, dropping one leg to the floor. 

“Light,” he says. “Are we awake this time?”

Groggy as he may be, Light feels fairly certain that this is the first and only time he has regained consciousness. “What?” he asks succinctly. 

“Are you awake?” L repeats. “You’ve been periodically rising and asking the same questions over and over again. To clear the record: No, I do not have any extra blankets on hand for you. You were shot by Higuchi after we cornered him. He has been, ah, taken care of.”

“I–What? Wait, what does that mean?” Light asks. He doesn’t like the sound of it, and not only because when L becomes vague it usually means he’s dancing around something he knows Light isn’t going to like. 

“Light seems to be cold,” L disingenuously deflects, explaining his first statement instead of the one they both know Light was asking about and in the process confirming Light’s suspicions. “I suspect it to be because of the anaesthetics.” 

“Ryuga,” Light says, a frown crossing his face.

L sighs, more or less immediately dropping the act. “Regretfully, once Light was shot, a member of the police disobeyed orders and began firing upon Higuchi. I suppose he wasn’t used to carrying a firearm in Japan. Higuchi passed before we had the chance to interrogate him.” 

Of course. It’s typical that L would be less concerned about the loss of life than the fact that he didn’t have the chance to pick his brain beforehand. But that also means–

“Did we find the murder weapon?” Light demands. 

L shakes his head. “I instructed Watari to collect his belongings and wait for me to return to undergo a full investigation. I wanted to accompany you to the hospital, but I also want to be the one to discover the weapon. It would be for the best that it not become public knowledge, as it were.”

This does not compute. That L would choose to come with him rather than immediately discover how Kira operates makes absolutely no sense.

“What is it?” L asks, making Light start. He didn’t realize this confusion was showing on his face.

“It’s just that I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to stay,” Light explains delicately. “I mean, we caught Kira. I’m not even sure why you’re here.” 

L’s expression flashes unreadably. Instead of explaining, he offers a question of his own, a habit that has grated on Light’s nerves for the last month–for the entire duration of their acquaintance, actually.

“Why would you feel the need to dive into the path of a bullet? You would have been just fine where you were. In fact, doing so would have eliminated a significant threat to you. In the event that Light is Kira, I mean,” he clarifies.

“Are you serious?” Light demands, bristling. It’s typical that he would still be on this, after everything. “You’re my friend, as much as you don’t seem to believe it, and I’m not just going to stand there and watch you get shot. I’m not Kira, and I’m not a murderer.” 

Unaffected by Light’s outburst, L leans back in his chair and surveys him with quiet interest. His tone is mollifying as he replies, “Of course. My apologies, Light. It isn’t my intention to suggest that I don’t appreciate what you’ve done for me; I understand that without your intervention I would be the one lying in a hospital bed. I thank you for that.”

“It’s nothing,” Light demurs, having calmed down over the course of L’s apology. “You would have done the same for me.”

The face that L makes, a sheepish tightening around the mouth, suggests that Light’s words may not exactly ring true. Regardless, he says, “I apologize for putting you at risk. It was extremely irresponsible of me, and I will see to it that neither you nor your family will be paying the expense.”

“That’s really not necessary, Ryuga,” Light says, sitting up further. “We–We have insurance. You don’t have to pay for anything.”

“I am not going to allow you to be shot on my behalf and then foot the bill,” L replies. “I have already settled the details with the hospital.”

Mortification and relief have a short scuffle in Light’s mind for dominance as he takes this in. Having to have L pay for his stay is against his values, but–what if he was seriously injured? Did he need more surgeries? What had he already had?

“Am I going to be able to work on the case?” Light asks abruptly. L’s patchy eyebrows disappear under his bangs.

“I would prioritize healing before returning to Countermeasures. I believe you are going to be an inpatient here for, at the very least, a few more days. Your doctor will give you the details, but you suffered—” L seems to be drawing upon a memory, tone turning mechanical as he lists off Light’s ailments, ”–a pneumo-hemothorax, which collapsed your lung, leading to hypoxia and hemoptysis.” In response to the vacant look Light shoots him, he further explains, “You were oxygen-deprived and coughing up blood. They surgically repaired the damage to your lung and inserted a chest tube to drain the blood inside of your chest cavity and relieve the pressure.” 

L sits back down in his armchair, feet bouncing against the ground rhythmically. “The point is that you are lucky to be alive. I would focus on appreciating that fact.”

“I helped catch him,” Light presses. “I want to know how he did it. And I want to clear my name.”

L scrutinizes Light silently for a few moments, his wide eyes like searchlights as he scans Light’s face. L is perpetually hard to read, expressions eternally unreliable and hand-crafted to reveal as little information as possible, but Light has pieced together that this expression always means he’s re-evaluating _something_ , be it information about a case or his own personal biases.

Then L smiles, a contrite little thing. “Light is correct,” he says. “It would be unfair to deny him this. He will be allowed to return after his doctor releases him.” 

Light sags against the hospital bed, deeply fatigued. “Thank you, Ryuga,” he sighs. 

"Of course,” L replies. “Now, I’m going to contact your father. I sent Yagami home to inform your sister that you were injured on your trip; he can fill you in on the details of whatever he told her when he returns.”

The peace that came with L yielding to his request is shattered with the reminder of Light’s father. He had forgotten the feeling that had come to him as he bled out on the sidewalk, that bone-deep bitterness that had swallowed him at the reminder of his childhood, and now as he recalls he’s riddled with guilt. It’s worse for the fact that Light had thought he had abandoned the lingering resentment he’d had for his father before the Kira investigation, before Light too had learned what it felt like to put everything he had into a case. It’s an incredible feeling, even despite the frustration that underlines his every waking moment as his innocence continues to be questioned. 

Light shouldn’t blame his father for prioritizing work over his family. He had never signed up to take care of two children on his own, after all; his place is and has always been upholding the law first and foremost. Light understands this now.

And yet he had still been upset, had still raged against his father in what could have been his final moments. It’s selfishness, pure and simple, and Light dreads facing him again.

L seems to detect the hesitation in Light’s face. An uncharacteristic gentleness crosses his expression as he sits back in the chair. “I could wait until morning to alert Yagami, if Light prefers?” he offers.

Relief blooms in Light’s chest like a healing balm. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Thank you,” he repeats. “I would like that.”

L nods, bobbing his head. He returns his attention to the blue glow of the tablet as Light lays back against the pillows again, closing his eyes. He sleeps soundly.


	2. in your ancient eye

There’s a pain behind L’s left eye, a mean, throbbing thing that threatens to spill over into the rest of his skull and incapacitate him for the remainder of the day. He presses his fingers against his temple, exerting a pressure that admittedly does very little to dull the pain in his head but that he keeps up for a solid minute before yielding to the fact that his headache isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Flashes of the previous night come to him in waves–a series of memories that funnel through his mind and serve only to exacerbate the pulse behind his eyes. Light tackles him to the ground in his memory as a gunshot rings out. Light spits up blood in his face and slips away into unconsciousness. Light’s blood-speckled lips are turning blue.

L shakes his head, a movement that proves to be a mistake as a spike of pain shoots through his skull. Privately, he’s tempted to write off the entire previous night as an unfortunate mistake.

But he can’t justify doing so–he’s dealt with greater casualties in his line of work than Light, and he can’t say that the entire night was a waste. Kira, or at the very least one of them, was dead. The real answers lie in what he had with him.

Higuchi's personal possessions, obtained from both his corpse and his car, have been confiscated and looked over. The most notable of these is a notebook, sealed in plastic wrap on-scene by Watari's men and now sitting innocuously on L's desk. The words DEATH NOTE are scrawled across the cover in English, which L thinks lacks a reasonable degree of subtlety as far as murder weapons go. 

L peels open the evidence wrap with a quiet plastic crinkling. 

The book doesn't, as one might think, feel any different from an ordinary book. Leather and paper, bound together into a regular tome, completely innocent if not for the circumstances of its discovery. 

There are rules written on the inside cover, which L scans briefly before flipping through the rest of it; it's filled with names, some that L can recognize from memory as pertinent to the investigation. 

L looks up, intending on calling Watari to have him cross-reference names of Kira's victims with names written in the book, but a tall figure obscures his vision. Jerking away, L's chair slides a foot or so backwards and collides with the raised platform of the sitting area before stopping, nearly dumping L out onto the floor. 

The figure is tall, despite a notable curve in its spine that robs it of its true height, and seemingly composed of bone twisted together like the gnarled branches of a great, thick tree. It sneers at him through fang, face distinctly batlike in appearance but still able to express a facsimile of human emotion. 

L can't peel his eyes away from the monstrous figure in front of him. He opens his mouth to speak, his tongue suddenly bone-dry and sticking to the roof of his mouth; he licks his lips instead before trying again. 

“Watari,” he croaks. The older man is already looking at him from his desk in the corner, concern creasing his wrinkled face even further. He doesn’t seem to see the specter, so L says, “I need you to go see about investigating Higuchi’s home. I would like to have a head start, if the Japanese police have not already done so.”

Watari’s brows furrow. “Are you sure?” he asks.

“Yes,” L replies, tearing his eyes away to look at his mentor. “Go.”

Standing, Watari brushes himself off. If nothing else, L is sure he knows when he is being dismissed by now. “If something is wrong, you know you can tell me,” Watari reminds him, but doesn’t stick around for L’s response.

The moment Watari disappears deeper into Countermeasures, L’s head swivels around to stare down the figure. It hasn’t moved, still just standing there.

“A Shinigami?” L says, half questioning and half wonderment. 

The Shinigami doesn’t answer. It lets out an unkind breath through its stub nostrils.

L propels himself forward with a foot, returning to his spot at his desk and picking up the fallen notebook. The Shinigami tracks his movements with its one glassy eye.

“Is this yours?” L asks, holding up the book by the corner. 

One of the Shinigami’s colossal arms creaks upward with the sound of trees groaning in the wind. Its great clawed hand twists upward, and like magic–not a trick or sleight of hand, L’s always been perceptive enough to cut through illusions like paper, but something far more real–a book appears where it was not a moment before. This one is a pale grey, and written on the cover is something in a language unlike any L has seen before. 

“No,” it says, in a voice so ancient it seems to be filled with dust. It’s hardly more than a low huff, and yet distinctly feminine in form. “This is mine.”

The notebook in L’s hands may very well be one of the most lethal weapons on Earth, and he’s floored by the fact that the Shinigami pulled another quite literally out of thin air as though it was nothing. He doesn’t let himself remain struck dumb for long, however. And if this notebook isn’t the Shinigami’s, then—

“Then who does it belong to?” he asks.

Arm still outstretched, the Shinigami twists its wrist again. The notebook turns as though to fall, but disappears instead as the Shinigami points a finger at L.

“You,” it replies.

“Me?” L’s tone is incredulous. “I’ve never used it.”

It shakes its head. “You were the first to touch it after its previous owner passed.”

L peers up at it from below his bangs. “That would be Higuchi?”

It nods.

“If the book belongs to Higuchi—and now me—why are you here?” he presses.

“Notes cannot be left unattended in the human world,” it says. “Whoever dropped it must be present to collect it when the human who picked it up dies.”

The implications of the words  _ human world _ do not go unnoticed by L. If there is a human world, there is presumably a Shinigami world, or other worlds entirely–it’s a dizzying concept, but he won’t be lost in that now.

“Then why didn’t you take it when Higuchi was shot?” L asks.

The Shinigami’s expression is a blank slate, and its monotone voice gives very little away as it slowly replies, “I did not have the opportunity.”

Something about the Shinigami’s statement seems ingenuine, but that’s a nebulous feeling at best. Still, L puts a pin in the thought as he turns his attention back to the book. He had been doubtful of its authenticity before, but much of that doubt has been wiped away in light of his current visitor. 

Flipping back to the rules section, he points at the words. “These are in English?” 

Another nod. The Shinigami seems to not be much for talking. 

“Why?” he asks. “Your Note was not.”

It shrugs. “I don’t know. I didn’t write it.” 

“Then who did?”

“Another Shinigami, I presume,” it replies. “Or perhaps it was there when they were given it.”

L stares a hole in the paper as he reads through the rules again. If they’re legitimate, the implications are significant. 

“Do you know if they could be forged?” L asks, turning his head to look at the Shinigami.

Once again, its expression is difficult to read. It’s possible that it isn’t capable of the same range of facial expressions as a human. 

“No,” it replies. “They are accurate. I suppose they were written so that humans who stumble upon it understand how it works.”

Then, if the Shinigami is to be believed, the nature of Light and Misa’s respective captivities eliminate them as suspects. It’s hard to believe, and yet L can’t help the feeling of relief that blooms in his chest at the thought. 

“This rule about anyone who touched the Note being killed if the Note is destroyed,” L says. “That puts me at risk, yes?”

“I suppose so,” it agrees.

“And you can’t be seen by anyone else?” L asks. “Is that because the Note is mine?”

It shakes its head. “No. Anyone who touches the note will be able to see me.”

This suits L just fine. With an air of finality, he closes the book and tucks it right back into its protective plastic, sealing it up tight. Later, he will make photocopies of the Note’s pages for the Task Force to view when they reconvene, but for now it’s best kept tucked away. There are other concerns on L’s mind.

“One last question,” L begins. He turns back to the Shinigami. 

It looks back, impassive, waiting.

“Do you know who the Second Kira is?”

The moments tick by as the Shinigami stares him down, its glassy eye narrowing slightly in response to the question. It’s a piercing look, one that might have someone else flinching away, but L meets its look with a wide-eyed stare himself.

Finally, it replies a breathy, “No. I don’t know anything about that.”

It’s difficult to tell if it’s being honest. There’s an air of insincerity about it, a falsity of tone that would be damning in a human, but that’s just it. The tells that L ordinarily would look for are difficult to decipher on the Shinigami’s alien face, and the artificiality he detects could just as easily be chalked up to a being that simply doesn’t know how to speak to a human being.

L drops his gaze from the Shinigami. “All right, then,” he says. It’s no matter; he’ll have all the time he needs to question the Shinigami. All he has to do is wait.

He’s a very patient man.

* * *

The next two weeks pass by quickly. His time is spent divided between the Task Force and the Shinigami; during the day, the team files in and they begin the search for the Second Kira. The team is given photocopies of the Note, created by L himself, while the Note itself remains sealed in plastic and touched by no one. None of the team can see the Shinigami that seems bonded to him like glue.

At night, when the Task Force members return home to their families in the face of their failure to find any sign of the Second Kira, L turns his attention back to the Shinigami. It seems reluctant to answer the majority of his questions about the Note, but there are things he learns; there is a Shinigami Realm, overseen by a monarch of sorts that has ruled since the very beginning. The rules of the Note are only a small collection of rules created by this realm, rules that Shinigami are bound to follow, although L doesn’t manage to learn the specifics of these rules.

He also learns that the Shinigami has a name.

“Rem,” it groans during one conversation, “Is my name.”

L quirks his head to the side. It’s dark in Countermeasures, with the Task Force long since gone home for the night and even Watari having retired to his room. He’s usually alone at this hour, alone with his thoughts and plenty of time to pour over his work, but it seems that Rem doesn’t require any sleep to function. He respects that. 

Up until this moment, he had been content with referring to Rem simply as Shinigami, but the longer he speaks to it the more he becomes aware of just how humane it is, appearances aside. It’s only natural that it has a name.

“Rem,” he repeats. “I see. Is there anything else I should know about you, then?”

It considers this for a moment, as it always does; the Shinigami–Rem–seems loath to say anything without deliberating for some time beforehand.

Eventually, it replies, “You can consider me a woman.”

This piques L’s interest. “I can consider you one? Is that to say that you aren’t, really?”

L’s question seems to annoy Rem, judging from the way her eye narrows. “There is no reason for Shinigami to be differentiated by gender. It isn’t as though we reproduce.”

“But you’re a woman?” L presses. This is a conversation that Near would likely be interested in. It’s a terrible shame that L has no intentions of letting them touch the Note; there’s very little doubt in his mind that they would be asking Rem questions for weeks.

“Yes,” Rem confirms. “I find the idea interesting. Why shouldn’t I be?”

This is fair enough for L. “I suppose I don’t have a reason. I know someone who did much the same thing.”

For every bit of information L manages to wrest out of Rem, there’s another conversation that goes by without him learning anything of interest. Rem is reticent at best and what little he’s learned has felt like pulling teeth; even so, it’s difficult to tell if this is because Rem is truly hiding something. It’s just as possible that the Shinigami doesn’t know anything–after all, what reason would she have to lie?

And yet L has the striking feeling that she’s not disclosing the truth to him. When she clams up after a question, lapsing into a long silence that is eventually only broken by her dull voice huffing  _ I don’t know anything about that _ , L suspects that Rem is treading very carefully indeed.

* * *

“You really don’t have any more suspects?” Near asks, legs curled underneath them as they set pieces into their shared puzzle.

“Unfortunately, I’m afraid not,” L replies. The shinigami aside, of course. “The rules of the Note seem to have absolved Light and Amane of any guilt.”

Near leans forward, expression open and searching. “You really believe that? It seems a little perfect, doesn’t it?”

L reaches down and places the next piece. “For the time being, it’s all we have to go on.”

With a knowing glance up and down L’s figure kneeling on the floor, Near asks, “And it has nothing to do with what Light did?” 

“No. Even so, it doesn’t seem much like Kira to take a bullet for someone, does it?”

Near smiles. “No. Is he going to come back? You haven’t visited him.”

L wrinkles his nose. “It doesn’t quite seem like my place to visit, does it? Besides, I hate hospitals. They’re terribly unclean.”

“That’s true,” they agree, slotting another piece into place. “Maybe you could send him a card?”

“I’ve never been very good at that kind of thing,” L replies. “Would it be trite to send him a bouquet?” 

Near lets out a snort. “He might get the wrong idea.”

L has to concede this point. Light will be back in a matter of days, regardless. 

“To answer your question, yes,” L continues, scrutinizing the blank puzzle before them. “Light will continue to be on the case for as long as he wishes, potentially up until the Second Kira is caught.”

“Hm.” Near reaches up, twining a finger in their pale hair. A sly smile crosses their face. “He isn’t exactly the most helpful. You’re sure you don’t just want to keep him around?”

Near has always been a bit of a thorn in L’s side; perhaps not so much as Mello, but the two of them are all but a package deal and if one of them is making L’s life hard then the other is sure to be right behind. L glowers at Near for the accusation, a pointed look that suggests that he has no intention of justifying himself to them. He isn’t in the habit of explaining himself to anyone, even his sibling.

Completely unaffected by L’s glare, Near lets out a tinkling laugh. “Don’t be cranky. It was just a question.”

This line of conversation has gone on quite long enough for L’s tastes. As he thinks this, his gaze slides just behind Near’s grinning form and focuses on the figure lurking in the back of the hotel room. Rem is a constant presence, one that he’s managed to ignore for the most part when they aren’t alone–not that it’s difficult, seeing as though she seems perfectly content to linger in complete silence until being asked a question.

For the time being, L doesn’t want to share the Shinigami’s existence with Near. They’re the curious sort, and if given the opportunity to see Rem it’s doubtless they would take measures to do so. L has enough on his hands without them stealing the Note out from under his nose, even if it would only amount to a minor annoyance.

Reaching forward, L selects the piece he’s sure is the correct one and moves to put it in its place. It’s a perfect fit. 

Without any preamble, L pushes himself to his feet. Near looks up at him in what could be disappointment, but they don’t seem surprised that L is leaving so abruptly. They pick up the doll sitting beside them, a crude facsimile of their brother carved in wood and sewn together. 

“You better be careful,” Near informs them in a rough voice, an ugly imitation of Mello, “There’s still another Kira out there. He’s not off the hook yet.”

L responds with a long, drawn out sigh. “Thank you, _Mello,_ ” he drones sarcastically. “I know what I’m doing.”

Not-Mello’s laughter chases him out of the room.


	3. shiva

The second time Light wakes, he is alone.

This time, the first thing he notices isn’t the cold, or the fluorescent lights, or the beeping of the machines, or the quiet whirr of the Pleur-Evac evacuating his chest cavity. What he notices first is the bone-deep anxiety when he looks around and is flooded with the realization that he is alone in the hospital.

A childhood spent in hospitals washes over him, unrelenting. His immediate response is a terrible sense of dread, one that had mercifully eluded him last night--and then the night before comes to him, and he recalls the memory of being shot, for real this time, and they hadn’t known and he’d coughed up blood and wasn’t that just like his mother?

Light is tethered, physically, to the bed--not with restraints but it might as well be. If it wasn't the IV in his arm it would be the gruesome tube in his chest leaking into the machine on the floor. There is no escape. 

The heart rate monitor beside him beeps in counterpoint to the percussive blast of his pulse flooding his ears, his heart beating itself furiously against his ribcage in a desperate bid for release. His vitals read 120 BPM. 

A nurse enters. 

"I have to go," Light says, before she has the chance to speak. "I have to get out, I. There's somewhere I have to be."

"Sir," she replies placatingly. "You were shot last night. I'm afraid that isn't possible."

Light isn't listening. He practically jumps out of his bed, stopped only by the painful tugging of the tube under his bandages. 

"I--I have to go," he repeats. "I need, I need to see my sister. I have to make her breakfast."

The nurse places a hand on his shoulder, gentle. "Your family is here, they're in the cafeteria. I can call them up, but you need to lay down."

His family is here. His sister. 

His father?

The image of his father walking in on him this way is mortifying. He bites on his tongue, hard. 

A short count to ten. 

"Okay," he breathes out. "Okay." 

The woman gives him a look of approval as he settles back down, chest aching horribly. His heart rate is still high.

"Do you want something for the anxiety?" she asks. 

He wants to say: _ I'm not anxious. _

He wants to say:  _ I don't need that. _

"Okay," he says, for one last time. 

* * *

He's feeling better when Sayu barrels into him, stomping all the way to his bedside. It stings, but he smiles and hugs her back. 

"I can't believe you," she says. "Aren't you the one who taught me to look both ways before I crossed the street? And drilled me on driving safely when I got my permit? How could you get hit by a car? How could you--How could you just leave without saying anything and then get  _ hit by a car? _ "

Light blinks down at her, and then raises his gaze. His father is standing in the door, looking stoic as ever. His head dips in a slight nod.

Throat closing, Light coughs slightly. "It was just an accident. It's not like I meant to."

Sayu waxes indignant. "I know that! You're lucky I don't hit you myself."

Light's smile is long dead, but its ghost makes an appearance. "I guess so," he agrees. 

"Hey," she says, brows furrowing. "Are you okay, though, seriously? Are you in pain?"

A little, but that isn't the problem. "No," he says, "I'm fine."

His father enters now, placing a hand on his daughter's shoulder. She looks up. 

"Sayu," he intones. "Would you ask one of the nurses to get something for Light to eat?" 

Her face lights up. "Oh! Of course, I'll be right back." 

Light is left alone with his father. 

Soichiro takes a heavy seat, in the same chair L had been lounging in the night before. He sighs, folding his arms. 

"Light," he says. His words are heavy. “You’re awake.”

Light finds himself uncomfortable. “Ah, yeah. I was awake for a little bit last night, too.”

“L told me as much,” his father informs him.

“Oh.”

Soichiro bridges the gap between them. He sits in the chair where L sat the night before, larger and yet somehow taking up less room than L had laying across it with his limbs all akimbo. 

“I’m sorry that this was allowed to happen,” his father informs him. “Your life was needlessly put in danger last night.”

Light appreciates the sentiment, although he has a hard time feeling genuinely thankful for the apology. “It’s nothing, Dad,” he says. “He could have pointed that gun at anyone. We were all in danger.”

“I suppose that’s true.” His father looks down, folding his hands together. 

“It’s what you would do,” Light says, “Right, Dad?”

Soichiro looks at him for a moment, lips pursed. Then he releases a heavy sigh. “That’s true,” he agrees. “I’m proud of you, you know.”

Light is taken aback by this expression of praise; he opens his mouth to reply, but at that moment Sayu returns, practically jogging through the door. 

Blind to the tone of the room, she chirps, “The nurse is coming with breakfast! You don’t have to eat in the cafeteria because, well.”She points to the machine on the floor. 

Light follows her finger with his eyes and peers down at it; it’s humming away, emptying the contents of his chest cavity. He’s already breathing far, far easier than he had before, right after the gunshot and even last night, so he supposes it’s working.

Light smiles weakly at Sayu. “Thanks,” he mumbles. He’s not hungry.

* * *

L does not visit again.

Light doesn’t know why he expected him to; after all, L never leaves Countermeasures, not unless it’s for something important or something he considers important, by whatever strange metric it is he evaluates things with. Light is, quite obviously, not important enough to visit twice.

Someone else does come to visit him, however; it’s a few days into his hospital stay when a nurse knocks. Bounding through the door after her is Misa.

“Light!” she cries, hurrying to his bedside. “Misa was so worried about you! They didn’t tell her where you were or what happened to you. Sayu told her today!”

Light blinks, startled as the peaceful silence he had been in is disrupted. “Uh,” he begins. “I’m sorry, Misa. I don’t know why they didn’t tell you.”

She gathers one of his hands in both of hers. Her hands are extremely petite--both of her hands don’t even cover one of his. “Don’t apologize! They should be the ones saying they’re sorry. But none of that matters now that Misa’s here!” 

Misa rushes to check him over, examining his chest for injuries. She lifts his blanket, at which point Light’s cheeks redden.

“Misa. Misa,” he says, getting her attention and covering up his gown-clad legs. “I’m okay, really.”

“What happened?” she gushes, getting close and conspiratorial. “Was it that guy? Turbo-Sadist? I always knew he was a creep, ugh--”

“No,” Light gently interrupts. “It wasn’t. We caught Kira.”

After a moment, the words sink in. A strange feeling of pride wells up in Light’s chest for the first time since he stood there in front of Higuchi, listening to L telling the man to give up. 

“Really?” Misa asks. “Kira did this?”

Light nods. “Yes.”

Misa lets out an angry huff. “I can’t believe he would do that. He avenged Misa’s parents. Why would he try and kill Light?”

Misa’s ideals are less than stellar, Light notes for not the first time. He lets out a sigh, some of the elation from a moment before dissipating. “He wasn’t trying to shoot me,” Light admits. “He was trying to shoot L. I pushed him out of the way.” 

“Oh,” Misa deadpans. “That makes sense. Why would you do that?”

“He’s not as bad as you make him out to be,” Light replies defensively. “He’s my friend.”

“He’s a total creep! And he tortured Misa!”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“How was it, then?” Misa sniffs. 

Light hesitates, floundering for a way to defend L. “I mean… He did it for the case. It all pointed to us. I even turned myself in. If we had been Kira--if we had been, it would have been justified.”

“But we weren’t,” she retorts. “We’re innocent. Aren’t we supposed to be protected?”

Tearing his hand out of Misa’s, Light shakes his head. “Just drop it, Misa. You wouldn’t understand. We caught Kira, that’s what matters.” 

She winces as Light raises his voice. “Okay,” she mutters, clearly dissatisfied with the way the conversation has gone. “I guess.”

Light softens. “Hey,” he says. “It’s good for you, too. We can go back to normal soon. We just have to catch the Second Kira, and it’ll be easy once we know how Higuchi did it.”

This brightens Misa; it’s not difficult to cheer her back up. She seems stuck in a perpetual state of sunshine. “Okay. No more of this stupid investigation? And no more L?”

Light’s guts twist themselves into a knot, but he thinks about how L hasn’t visited: thus, Light isn’t worth his time. Are they even really friends, or is L going to disappear again the moment the case is over, never to speak to Light again? What is going to happen when it’s all over?

He can picture it now: going back to Suginami University, spending lecture after lecture thinking about the Kira case and wondering if L will ever call on him again. Getting out of class and returning to Yonosuke Pub, fearing he’ll spend the rest of his life waiting tables.

Misa looks up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. He decides that waiting for L isn’t going to pan out.

“Okay,” he says. “After we catch the Second Kira. No more.”

* * *

The days drag on as Light remains hospitalized, bored out of his mind by the ten channels the television in his room has to offer. He’s dying to return to Countermeasures, or even back home to his bedroom, but they insist on monitoring him for any complications and thus he is trapped inpatient. 

They take out his chest tube after four days. It’s terrible while it’s in--the tube is nestled right up against a nerve ending. It’s more painful than the gunshot, especially one day when he moves his bed into a reclining position and the tube shifts, scraping the inside of his chest cavity and resulting in him howling in pain for five minutes until he moves in the right way for it to shift back into the correct place. He’s glad to have it gone.

Once it’s gone, it’s a matter of making sure his wounds heal well and his lung doesn’t spontaneously collapse again. It’s apparently something he’s going to have to be wary of in the future, his doctor tells him. He’s going to have to be careful long after he gets out of the hospital.

In the end, he’s hospitalized for about two and a half weeks. 

When he’s finally released, it’s his sister and Misa that greet him. Between the two of them, he’s had someone visit him every day. Neither L nor his father visit more than once.

He’s crammed in Misa’s car--a black Volkswagen beetle. It’s decorated with flowery decals on the sides. It’s horrendously tacky, and very Misa. The car only has two doors, so they have to wait for Misa to pull up her seat and let Sayu into the cramped backseat. 

The girls chat his ear off the entire ride home, but he doesn’t mind. It’s a nice change of pace from the way things have been up until now, at least.

Misa drops the two of them off at home. “Misa would come in,” she says, “But she has a concert tonight. Call her if you need anything!” 

Light’s room is just how he left it. He isn’t sure what he expected, really, but it’s been so long since he’s been home between his incarceration, the case, and finally his hospitalization that a part of him expected some great big change to have befallen it. 

The only thing out of place is a fine layer of dust over all of his things.

Sitting at his desk, he ends up checking his social media--it’s a wall of notifications from estranged family, like his grandmother deeper into Tokyo, all wishing him well after his car accident. He doesn’t have the energy to maintain this lie more than he has to, so he posts a vague but polite thank-you without responding to any of them in particular.

He very nearly leaves then, but one message sticks out to him. It’s not from family, but from a familiar name; Kamoda. It reads:

> _ hey. wanted to visit u in the hospital but it felt weird. hope ur doing ok. stick to crosswalks ww _

Kamoda hasn’t spoken to him since he found out about Light’s relationship with Misa, a fact which makes his guts squirm with guilt for whatever reason. It seemed important at the time, enough that he never made any attempt to reconcile with his friend--who had been his best friend since high school--but he doesn’t understand why.

The message means a lot to him. He makes a move to reply, but then something catches his eye.

Kamoda’s profile is a dense wall of pro-Kira propaganda. The most recent posts are all regarding the recent death of Higuchi Kyosuke, a suspect in the Kira investigation, and about the sudden stop of deaths in the face of it. They’re all bashing the police responsible for it, claiming they’re getting in the way of real justice.

A sour taste coats Light’s tongue. He ignores Kamoda’s message.


	4. lion in a coma

On the day that Light is scheduled to return, L is practically jumping out of his seat. 

He doesn’t know if it’s noticeable to the Countermeasures team, but he wouldn’t be surprised. It’s been apocalyptically boring, what with Light gone and the case grinding to a complete and utter halt after Higuchi’s death. Their main suspect is dead, their secondary suspects have been vindicated by a rule of the murder weapon.

Matsuda has taken to playing games on his work laptop. L would chastise him, but he’s been watching TV on his own, so it would be a little hypocritical to mention it.

Light walks in fourteen minutes after 11. At first glance, he looks no different from usual; but L has made a lifetime out of scrutinizing everything presented to him. Light’s clothes are ill-fitting, hanging loose on his usually very muscular frame. His cheeks are gaunt. Being shot seems to have taken a toll on his health.

The task force all greet Light in their own ways--Aizawa with a gruff hello; Mogi with a brisk squeeze of the shoulder; Matsuda by chattering his ear off about missing him and everything being a drag while he’s gone; Himura with a nod; Yagami with a stoic greeting from his chair.

“Welcome back,” L greets once they’re all finished, dropping his feet from the table onto the floor and standing to meet Light, who has stepped over to the desk.

“Thanks,” Light mutters. He’s unusually quiet. “Have we made any progress on the case?”

L smiles lopsidedly at Light. “Very eager. Yes, take a seat and I’ll show you what we’ve found.”

As Light slowly takes his usual seat at the main table--which has been left empty for him--L retrieves a file from his own desk, placed there specifically to be ready for Light. He brings the manila envelope over, placing it in front of Light.

“What’s this?” Light asks. 

“This is a photocopy of the murder weapon,” L replies, hovering over Light’s shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll be interested to see it.”

L is correct; Light practically tears open the folder to get at its contents. He seems stunned when all it is he sees is--

“A notebook?” Light asks, incredulously. He looks up at L. “It’s a notebook? Is this--the notebook he wrote Matsuda’s fake name in?”

“The very same,” L confirms, a pleased expression crossing his face. “Look inside. There are rules.”

Light flips through the pages of the photocopy slowly; eventually, he looks back up at L with an embarrassed expression.

“I actually can’t read English,” he confesses. “I understand the title and a few of the words, but I usually keep a dictionary.”

L lets out an incredulous little laugh. “Oh,” he says. Then he walks over to one of his padded chairs, sitting in it with his legs across one of the arms.

He recites: “The human whose name is written in this note shall die...”

The rest of the rules are recited all the same, in a monotonous drone. He doesn’t look at Light again until the rule he’s saved for last:

“If the person using this Note fails to consecutively write names of people to be killed within 13 days of each other, then the user will die.” He looks meaningfully at Light. “Which means…”

Light seems to brighten considerably. “Which means that, if it’s true, neither Misa nor I could possibly be Kira.” He remains like that, bright and radiant, until a shadow of doubt seems to be cast over him. “But how do we know it’s legitimate? This thing can’t be more than just a book.”

Rem is standing at the end of the table, unseen by anyone but L. The two of them make brief eye contact.

“That’s true,” Matsuda agrees, “But L is convinced it’s real. We couldn’t find anything else on Higuchi or at his house or his office that could possibly be a murder weapon.”

Mogi nods. “We don’t have any way to test it.”

“We’re going forward with the idea that the Note is legitimate,” L cuts back in. “If, when we catch the Second Kira, they have a similar book, we’ll know that they are both genuine.”

“Have we investigated the other members of the Yotsuba group?” Light asks, after a long moment of silence. “It’s possible that if Higuchi came into contact with the Second Kira, then the other members might know about it.”

“We held each of them for a few days,” Himura breaks in. “It was difficult to do much else.”

L hums in agreement. The Yotsuba Group collectively has an excellent legal team, so holding any member for even half as long as he’d like is more or less out of the question.

“None of them seemed to know which among their ranks was Kira until Higuchi’s arrest,” he drawls. “And they apparently didn’t keep tabs on each other’s personal lives, so none of them had any recollection of Higuchi meeting anyone new.”

“So, what do we know, then?” Light asks. “I mean, what have we learned? Do we have any leads?”

“Well…” Matsuda begins, looking uncomfortable. “We have the murder weapon now. Oh, but it can’t be traced or anything. It’s like, we know how it’s being done, but we have no way of doing anything about it.”

“What Matsuda means to say,” Yagami sighs, “Is that we have nothing. We’re back to square one.”

* * *

By the end of the day, they haven’t made much progress. The Second Kira hasn’t been active since Higuchi’s demise--before that, even. They might as well not exist.

Everyone packs up after dark, preparing to go home to have dinner with their families. Light is with his father, apparently being driven home by him. L walks over, hands clasped neatly behind his back.

“Light?” he asks. Light turns. “I was hoping to have a word alone, if I may.” He looks meaningfully at Yagami. 

Light blinks. “Sure, one second.”

They reconvene at L’s desk once the rest of the task force has filed out. Light is clearly confused, seeing as though L has been playing games on his laptop for the better part of an hour and could have spoken to him at any point.

“What is it?” Light asks. 

L holds up another manila envelope, this one bulging in the middle; clearly, there’s something more than paper inside. Setting it down on the desk, L flips it open, revealing its contents: a black notebook, covered in a clear plastic film.

Light looks taken aback. “The note?” he asks, surprised. “I thought that had been taken into police custody.”

L shakes his head. “I found it too dangerous to release to the Japanese government.”

“So you keep it here?” Light asks dryly.

L doesn’t respond to Light’s jab; instead, he levels him with a serious look, eyes dark and owlish under his bangs. He opens the plastic packaging.

“There is something I have not revealed to the rest of the task force,” L informs him, “Both because I’m not sure what to do with the information, and because in order to share it with you, you will need to touch the Note.”

If Light looked surprised before, he looks outright flabbergasted now. “But the rule--”

“Yes,” L agrees instantly. “If the note were destroyed, you would be killed, according to the rule. But I have already touched the Note and have absolutely no intention of letting it be destroyed for that reason, so you have my promise that you would be safe.”

He continues to hesitate, so L adds, “But Light doesn’t have to touch it. I’m not going to force his hand. If he’s uncomfortable, I’ll find someone else to discuss the issue with.”

This seems to do the trick; Light raises a hand to stop L as he begins putting the note away. “Wait! Wait. I want to know what it is.”

L turns to examine Light, finding only an earnest expression. He smiles. “All right. Touch the note, please, and look--” He seeks out Rem, and finds her standing across the desk. Her expression is just as hard to read as ever, but she looks--expectant, almost? He points to her. “There, please.”

After just a moment, Light reaches out and touches the note. His entire body seems to stiffen, like an electric current has passed through him, his hand clenching around the Note so hard that all of his knuckles go stark white. Light’s mouth falls open, eyes wide, and a small croaking noise comes out--almost like a wail, but one not quite ripe, not quite ready and having escaped far too soon. 

It must be fear, L thinks, as Light stares straight at Rem and the two of them share an unbroken moment of silence together before L reaches out and tugs the Note from under Light’s tense hand.

“As you can see,” L announces, “My theory was correct. Shinigami are very real.”

Light seems to be broken out of some kind of spell; he looks at L, now, his brows furrowed in confusion. “What…?” he asks, before looking back where L had originally pointed. 

Rem is there, in her full eight-foot glory, and Light seems to have a second wind of terror; he shrieks, taking a few steps back before stumbling and falling flat on his ass. 

“Ryuga,” he stammers, pointing. “You--It--A Shinigami?” 

Standing from his chair, L steps over to Light and crouches in front of him. “Yes, Light. Take a few deep breaths; she isn’t going to hurt you.”

Light looks at L incredulously, but does as he asks; he’s a little calmer when he speaks again. “You haven’t told everyone about this?”

“I wasn’t interested in creating pandemonium,” L replies dryly. “I wanted to show you first.”

For her part, Rem seems content to stare in silence at the two of them; any amount of chattiness L has been able to pry from her in the last weeks is gone now. The only sound from her is the dry, rasping wheeze of her breath. L gets the sense that she’s annoyed with the current proceedings.

L holds out a hand for Light to take, which he does after only a moment of hesitation, and L helps him back to his feet. There’s still plenty of stress evident in the line of his shoulders and the pull of his brow, which is to be expected. Light seems to be fishing around for something to say. L imagines it’s rather difficult to formulate something decent, given his recent revelation.

Eventually, he asks, “What does this mean?”

Clasping his hands behind his back, L looks up at Rem with a thoughtful expression, and Light’s head turns to follow his gaze. 

“Well,” L hums, “Other than any potential religious revelations, which I frankly do not care about, it doesn’t actually mean all that much for us. The Shinigami Rem doesn’t know or won’t share any information about the Second Kira. She has some interesting insights on her world, of course, but in terms of our investigation I haven’t been able to derive anything of worth.”

Light shakes his head incredulously. Under his breath, he mutters something to the effect of, “Of course you’d see it that way.”

At that moment, Rem seems to have enough; unfurling seemingly out of thin air comes two thin, leathery white wings and with a deafening rush of air she disappears through the ceiling. L gapes in surprise for a moment before his mouth closes with a snap.

“Well,” he says. “I was rather hoping to introduce you, but I suppose not.”

Light is staring up at the ceiling. “You’re friendly with the Shinigami, then?” he asks faintly.

“I suppose that’s one way to put it,” L muses. 

Light raises a hand to his face and massages the bridge of his nose. L wonders if he has a headache or if it’s just for show. 

“So, Shinigami are real, but it has no bearing on our investigation, unless we manage to get information out of it--her--that we don’t already know?”

“That is the situation as it currently stands, yes.”

With a heavy sigh, Light lowers himself into his chair. This time, L joins him at the desk, sitting with his knees on his seat and his arms draped over the back. He twists the chair idly back and forth.

“We’re just as stuck as ever, then,” Light finally says.

L doesn’t speak, but his agreement stands nonetheless. Yes, they are terribly, horribly stuck, just two weeks after what seemed like a breakthrough. It’s a little maddening.

Light turns to look at L, who blinks down at him. “I guess that means you’re stuck here for a little while longer, then.”

“I suppose that’s true,” L agrees. “You’re not rid of me just yet, Light.” It’s not such a maddening thing, perhaps.

Light’s smile is thin around the lips.

* * *

“Light is back from the hospital,” L drones, laying on his back on the uncomfortable hotel couch with one arm under his head.

After Light departed, citing a need to catch up with his father who presumably had been waiting outside the entire time; he was hardly out the door before L was taking the elevator up and walking into the hotel room currently occupied by his protégé. 

Now, he’s examining the spotless ceiling tiles, paying less attention to his younger sibling than to his ongoing stream of consciousness. 

“That’s true,” Near chirps from the floor, where they’re working on their puzzle by themselves. “Maybe with him back, you’ll actually make some progress on the investigation.”

“He does have a talent for perception. I’m sure his insights will be valuable,” L agrees dully, raising the pouch of Lucky Charge in his idle hand to his lips and taking a sip. Near makes a disgusted noise from the floor, and L peeks down at them.

“When was the last time you ate real food?” they ask, white eyebrows furrowing in something between concern and revulsion.

L ignores this question, turning away so that he doesn’t see the expression on his sibling’s face. He gnaws on the lip of the pouch.

“Be like that,” Near says. “Anyway, I actually meant that once you stopped moping, you might actually get something done.”

L’s head snaps to Near again. “Moping?”

“Yup,” Near confirms. “You’ve been moping ever since Light got hospitalized. It’s kind of sad.”

“I am not moping,” he denies.

“Admit it. You haven’t gotten any work done and we’ve been stuck like this for days because you’ve been too busy being all gloomy about him getting shot. It’s weird.”

Sitting up on the couch, L looks quietly indignant; most people likely couldn’t tell, but Near has always been able to see right through him. The thought is confirmed when Near grins up at him, pleased to get under his skin.

L lets out a long breath out of his nose. “It may be true that I haven’t made much headway, but it certainly is not because I am upset.” 

“Of course,” Near teases, puzzle abandoned. “That’s why you’re so excited to get him back. Unless you still think he’s a suspect?”

This makes L frown. “We’ve talked about this, Near.”

“And?” they demand. “I’m just asking. Are you really sure about this?”

L stands again. It feels as though more and more of these meetings end in him stalking out of the room as the case goes on. 

“I’m not sure,” L replies. “But it feels like he might be innocent.” It’s as simple as that.

He turns to leave. As he’s walking out the door, Near’s voice speaks up behind him, giving him pause.

“I’ll be glad if he really isn’t Kira,” they say quietly. “Because I know you were conflicted. It didn’t seem likely before.”

“It didn’t,” he agrees after a brief hesitation. “But whatever it seemed like before, it isn’t now.”

Turning on a heel, L steps outside. 

Privately, he’s glad too.


	5. reflektor

The next day, Soichiro corners Light to interrogate him about his nebulous future plans. 

The air between him and his father has been increasingly tense and frustrating as the Kira investigation has ground to a halt and as Light’s time away from school continues. It’s something Light has been avoiding, but they’re driving to Countermeasures together and Light has no chance to deflect or escape.

“You likely can’t return this semester,” he says. “Are you going to retake your classes?”

Light keeps his gaze on the dashboard of the car. “Um, I guess so, yeah.”

Soichiro lets out a vague grunt. “The next semester is coming up. If the case continues to go this way, you may have to stop to focus on your studies.”

Light’s head jerks to his father. “I want to help. I helped you catch Kira, and I want to be there when we catch the second.”

His father’s tone turns mollifying. “I know that, and it’s admirable, but you aren’t a member of the police or a detective like L. You have to think long-term.”

This conversation takes a toll on Light, reminding him of the finite nature of the arrangement before things have to return to the way they were, and he’s bitter and angry the entire way to the office. When they arrive, it’s clear that they’re the first members of the Task Force to have made it there. 

L is alone in the office, leaning very close to his computer, presumably looking at something related to the case with such intensity that it gets Light excited. Perhaps he found something, and the rut they’ve been stuck in is finally over?

In his haste, Light rushes over and peers behind L’s shoulder just to see two men standing in front of a purple curtain; one of them is dressed in traditional garb and hitting the other man with a paper fan. L seems enraptured.

“Ryuga,” Light complains, smacking L upside the head playfully. “I thought you were looking at something important, not your variety show.”

L looks balefully up at Light. “It is important.”

“Of course,” Light replies, so exasperated that he’s spun back around to amusement. 

Light sits beside L with a huff, where he has his own laptop set up. While it boots up, he asks, “Have you had any luck?”

L looks at Light with a look that could be described as tired. 

“Not particularly,” he mumbles. “There have been no murders since Higuchi’s death, and no murders specifically attributed to the Second Kira--that is, of criminals whose names were not revealed to the public--for quite some time before that. If the Second Kira is still alive, they’re in hiding.”

Light is about to respond, but as he opens his mouth his father speaks.

“Have we considered the possibility that the Second Kira is dead, then?” he asks. 

L leans back in his chair, turning to look at Soichiro. “That is very possible, Yagami,” he agrees. “In fact, that has become a substantial concern of mine.”

Light looks between his father and L. “Why would the Second Kira be dead? Are you suggesting that Higuchi killed them?”

“Precisely,” L confirms, leaning back in his seat. “We know that it’s likely the two Kiras met, so it’s very possible that Higuchi met with the Second Kira and then killed them in secret. Of course, that doesn’t explain where their Note would have gone, but if it’s true that they’ve died…”

“Then this is a wild goose chase,” Light finishes. He groans, leaning back in his seat.

L returns to his variety show. “Yes. So, until we have proof that the Second Kira is still alive, I have informed the rest of the task force that they can stay home while we continue a smaller search for information.”

So that’s where the rest of the team went. Light turns his chair to face L, despite the fact that he’s very much lost the detective’s attention.

“What do you mean you’ve sent them home?” Light demands. “We can still work. Waiting for proof--waiting for them to kill more people is unacceptable! You can’t just quit, Ryuga.”

L’s head is the only thing that turns, twisting only enough to look at Light out of the corner of his eye. 

“I’m not quitting,” he drawls. “I’m waiting. Frankly, I lack the motivation to work if there’s no purpose to it. As it stands, we’re firing shots in the dark.”

Light sputters disbelievingly, half-standing. “You’re unmotivated?” he asks. “This isn’t some 9 to 5 job, Ryuga. This is--this is Kira.”

L shakes his head. “No. Higuchi was Kira. This is potentially nothing.” He rests his cheek on his hand. “Why is Light so concerned? It isn’t as though he’s a suspect anymore. There’s nothing at stake for him.”

“There’s always something at stake. If we just sit and wait for the Second Kira, people will die,” Light replies in a tone that suggests he shouldn’t be argued with.

L seems to take the hint, since he returns to facing his computer. “Fine,” he says. “As I said, Light and his father are free to remain here and work as long as they like.”

Light huffs, annoyed, and returns to his computer. Across the room, his father is already working. 

A long sigh releases some of Light’s pent-up frustration. It doesn’t matter if L is acting petulant; this setup is only going to last until they catch the Second Kira. He’s surprised that L isn’t biting at the bit to get it over with and go back to doing--whatever it is he does when he’s not working the Kira investigation, but it doesn’t change the situation. 

Cracking his knuckles, he sees L grimace out of the corner of his eyes; it serves him right.

He turns to his computer and begins researching. If he’s going to work, he might as well do it the best he can. 

* * *

When evening comes, Light has hardly spoken to L at all. He and his father have exchanged comments about the case which ultimately amounted to nothing, which L probably expected, but L does nothing but sit there and watch his nonsensical variety show and occasionally eat when Watari brings him a platter of those meal supplements he likes so much.

That’s why it’s so surprising, as he and his father prepare to leave, that L stands up and approaches him. His voice is quiet, although loud enough for Soichiro to hear just fine: 

“Light should know that he still has a room here,” L says. “It isn’t mandatory, seeing as though Light is no longer under surveillance, but if he intends on coming early and staying late to work as always, he’s welcome to continue using it.”

Light crosses his arms over his chest. “I thought you said we were firing shots in the dark? Why should I stay late, in that case?”

L reaches up and scratches the side of his neck with a finger. “That’s true, but I noticed that some of Light’s best insights came at night, when he was working with me alone. I suspect an audience makes him nervous.”

Indignation flies across Light’s face. “I am not nervous. And anyway, that’s rich coming from you, seeing as though you didn’t do anything today.”

“I suppose I also enjoy working with Light alone,” L grants.

Light is torn between incredulity and an annoying little part of him that is pleased by L’s statement. He opens his mouth and then shuts it again while L stares at him with his dark eyes, hidden behind too-long bangs.

Eventually, he manages to retort, “Funny. Very funny. It’s a shame that when the investigation is over you’re going to get out of here as fast as possible.”

L looks surprised, head cocking to the side. “What gives Light that impression?”

Light scoffs. “The only thing you care about is the case, Ryuga. I didn’t see you for weeks in the hospital, and you and I both know we’re never going to see each other again and you’re going to go back to being L and I’m going to go back to being a student.”

“I never stopped being L,” he says, furrowing his brow and missing the point utterly. Light could throw up his hands in exasperation, but instead he shakes his head and turns to leave.

“I’m going home. Work by yourself, like always.” With that, Light storms off.

His father has already left, presumably going out to start the car, so Light’s trek out to the parking lot is a lonely one. He looks balefully up at the security cameras, wondering if L is watching him leave or if he stopped caring about Light the moment he left the office. 

He feels so connected to L--he took a bullet for him, for pity’s sake--but are they even friends?

Most of Light’s value was as a suspect, after all. What is their friendship based on but L’s fascination with the idea of him as Kira? 

Light comes to a halt in the parking lot, finding neither his father nor their car. He does a couple of circles around the asphalt, anxiety blooming in his chest as he searches for his ride home.

Nothing. His father left without him.

Frustration burns behind his eyes as he sits on the curb, setting his head in his hands. He weighs the equal humiliations of walking all of the way home and seeing his father and going back inside and seeing L. 

For just a moment, a knot rises in his throat, threatening to choke him or burst out as dismay, but this time he swallows it. So be it, he thinks. If he’s going to have to swallow his pride either way, he might as well take the choice that doesn’t involve a forty minute walk home.

Light stands and stays there for a moment, fists clenched, looking up at the darkened sky. The moon hangs in the air, a sliver of white in dusky blue. Then he turns and goes back inside.

L is exactly where Light left him, sitting there as though without a care in the world, which makes resentment rise in Light’s gut. He has the decency to look surprised when Light walks in.

“Light is back,” he says. “Did he change his mind?”

“No,” Light bites back. “My father left.”

L leans back in his chair. “He most likely thought you would take me up on my offer.”

Yeah, Light bets.

“I have no choice, now,” Light mutters. He crosses his arms. “I’m going to my room. Don’t bother me.”

As Light turns to leave, L stands hastily. “Light,” he says, and then continues, “Wait.”

Light thinks about not stopping, but L’s words seem impulsive, and that’s a rarity for him. So he does, half-turning to look at L.

“What is it?” he asks.

L approaches, his movements as odd as ever. He’s always either unusually jerky, like a wind-up doll, or so languid that it seems he isn’t even affected by gravity. At the moment, he’s the former. 

“I just wanted to say,” he begins, “I did not mean to make Light mad.”

Light scoffs. “That’s a funny apology.”

A frown crosses L’s face. “I… apologize. I also would like him to know that it was not my intention to dismiss the case.”

Light turns to face L more directly. “Right. And you just watched TV the whole time because…?”

The expression that crosses L’s face is best described as sheepish. “Well, if we’re being candid, I’m frustrated. I felt as though we were close before, but given everything, the case seems farther from reach than ever.”

“We were close when you thought I was Kira?” Light demands, getting agitated. “I understand that I’m still just a failed idea for you. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

L’s eyes go wide, like he didn’t expect Light to say that. He’s come closer; he’s well within Light’s personal space now. It’s nothing new for them, but Light wants to either push him away or grab him by the collar and shake him.

“That isn’t what I meant,” L explains. “I enjoy Light’s company.”

“It doesn’t seem like it,” Light retorts. “Admit it. You can’t wait to get out of here.”

L blinks, once, twice, three times. “Why would I?” 

Light doesn’t expect this response--he stammers for a moment. “Because-- Because you do.” He’s aware of just how weak this explanation is.

“Well,” L replies, leaning back and looking rather unimpressed, “That’s not true. Because there is nowhere I would rather be than here.”

Light tries again. “Okay, yes. Because the Kira investigation is going on. But afterwards, you’re going to go right back to hiding yourself. None of us are ever going to see you again.”

L scratches his cheek with a bitten nail. “I suppose I hadn’t thought about it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy Light’s company in the present.” 

His expression turns--surprisingly earnest. He moves forward again, oppressively into Light’s space. Somehow, Light is feeling claustrophobic in a very large room.

“Light should understand,” he says, “That he is my friend. He is the only individual who can consider themselves such. It’s a very exclusive list.” 

His tone is wry. “I am not waiting to get away from him. In fact, I welcome the extra time we have.”

Light’s throat has gone dry. He turns his head away from L, suddenly sweaty for no explicable reason. 

“Oh,” he says.

L smiles, and it isn’t one of his crooked little smirks but instead something more honest. “Oh,” he agrees.

Then he steps back, and the space between them seems to flood with fresh air. Light rubs the back of his head with a hand nervously. 

“Well,” he says. “I’m-- going to go to bed. We can get to work early in the morning?” he offers.

L nods, returning to his desk. “I’ll be here,” he promises.

He’ll be here.


	6. the mother we share

The next month stretches on without any significant headway made into the investigation.

Light ends up staying at Countermeasures about half of the time, sleeping alone in his makeshift bedroom. It isn’t nearly as homey as his actual bedroom; L has seen Light’s bedroom from every angle, and it’s decorated with various kitschy little knick-knacks, whereas the temporary room Watari had made up for him is blank and utilitarian, without even the elegance of the office proper. Still, it’s far more convenient to stay there than to drive with his father every morning, and it gives him time to stay late or arrive early. 

Sometimes, though, he returns home to check on his sister and eat with his family. He seems happier after doing so, perhaps feeling lonely staying at the hotel or perhaps simply enjoying seeing his family. L isn’t sure; he hadn’t seen Light’s outburst coming, so he’s had to re-evaluate the other man’s actions under that lens.

Perhaps he should have sent flowers after all, he jokes to Near.

Light’s sister is under the impression that he’s working at an internship, or so he says. It was an interesting exchange:

“Technically speaking,” L had said, taking a bite of a nutrition bar, “Light is. What is this if not an especially rigorous internship?”

Light had scoffed. “Yeah, I’m sure I can put ‘member of the Kira investigation team’ on my resume. Can I use you as a reference, or…?”

L looked at him. “Yes, you may.”

Light had laughed before he realized that L was perfectly serious. 

They find some sort of routine. By nine in the morning, the Yagamis join L in Countermeasures. Some days, they work all day long; some days, they give up by supper; some days, L pretends to watch TV and instead observes the two of them toiling for hours. They don’t snap at him for it, and he isn’t sure if it’s out of toleration or if their spirits are breaking.

By the third week, they’re flagging. It’s the longest they’ve gone without a Kira murder since all of this started. If the second Kira is still out there, they’re playing the long game.

L visits with Near on the nights that Light goes home.

It’s on one such occasion that L is sitting on the elevated step of the office beside his tent that he brings up Light yet again.

Near is working on a puzzle, as always. L is thoughtlessly throwing in piece after piece when it’s his turn, but he’s not thinking about the game.

“I want to ask Light to work with me,” he says abruptly, as Near is picking up the next piece. They drop it as they jolt, looking up at L with a startled expression.

“You what?” they ask. “Like-- after this?”

L nods, once. “Precisely. I think it would be an excellent arrangement.”

Near leans forward, suddenly frowning. “That’s not a good idea, L.”

“Why not?” he asks, leaning back with a seemingly lazy air about him. In reality, he’s feeling rather tense; Near’s commentary is bound to be incisive. 

“The security risks, first of all,” Near lists. “Are you going to bring him back to the House? Is he going to meet me and Mello?”

L shrugs. “Why not?” he echoes again.

Near crosses their arms, jamming their fists under their armpits. It makes them look like their brother. “Because--we’re secret!” they argue. “It’s not safe for us or for Light.”

With a hand, L waves Near away. “We can figure that out. Light can keep a secret, I’m sure, and we’ve never been in danger before.”

His sibling doesn’t look impressed with this line of reasoning. “But you’re teaching me and Mello, not him. Are you replacing us? You know Mello isn’t going to like that.”

L looks sharply at his sibling-slash-protege. “You’re being childish. You and I both know that you’re plenty competent on your own now. Besides, between Watari and I, there’s enough knowledge to be passed on to all three of you.”

Near flaps a hand in the air, a sure sign of unhappiness. “I don’t want to be taught by Watari. I want to be taught by you.”

“Watari was plenty good enough for me,” L retorts. 

Standing, Near stamps their foot on the ground. “I’m going to tell Mello about this,” they inform L, picking up the wooden facsimile of said brother. “This is a bad idea, L.”

“Well,” L drawls. “It’s ultimately up to me to decide. I’ll keep your input in mind.”

“Yeah, right,” Near grumbles, storming off.

It’s barely two days after his fight with Near that Watari approaches him, expression so grim that someone might as well have died. 

Instead, his mentor tells him, “Your brother has left the House.”

Of course he has. Near isn’t one to make idle threats. L runs a hand down his face, sighing. “How long until he gets here?”

“A flight from England to Japan lasts fifteen hours,” Watari replies. “Mello left early last night, so it could be any time now.”

As it turns out, that span of time turns out to be until the end of the day.

His brother has the wisdom to not approach him with an audience, so about an hour after the Yagamis leave for the day, L hears the door to the office slam open and the telltale sound of Mello stomping in his steel-toed boots.

“Mello,” L greets dryly, without looking up. “It’s nice of you to join us here, finally. How are your studies?”

Mello scoffs. “Cram it. What the fuck is this?”

L is currently clicking away at a rhythm game, so his gaze is directed solely at his monitor. “I honestly have no idea what you mean.”

The boots approach. Abruptly, a hand reaches over and slams the lid of his laptop shut.

“That was mean--” L begins, turning to give Mello a sore look, but he stops in his tracks.

In the air, inches from L’s face, Mello is holding the Death Note like it could bite him. It’s out of the plastic. Instantly, L’s neck swivels to look for Rem--she’s standing behind Mello, surveying the situation.

Mello’s eyes narrow. “So you do see it.”

“How did you get that?” L demands. “Where is Watari?”

His brother rolls his eyes. “He’s fine. He gave it to me when I asked.”

Oh, the sting of betrayal. L is going to have to have a talk with Watari later, but for now he has bigger problems.

Mello points to the Shinigami with a gloved hand. “I’ll ask again: What the fuck is this, L? Did you plan on telling us about it, or were you just going to keep us in the dark about something this dangerous?”

“The danger is precisely why I didn’t tell you,” L snaps, taking the Note from Mello with a quick movement. “What exactly do you think you can do about it? You’ve only made more problems for yourself--or did you even look at the rules?”

“Of course I did,” Mello says. “And I know that you’re not going to let this thing get destroyed in a thousand years, so I’m not really concerned.” 

L’s expression shifts into a scowl. Mello has always been difficult to deal with, ever since he arrived at the House when they were young. Time has blunted his bad attitude, of course, but it’s been replaced with a quickness and cleverness that makes him dangerous.

Not more so than L himself, of course, but it can be a pain when they fight.

“You’re missing the point,” L sighs. “You put yourself in danger for no reason. You don’t benefit from it.”

“I don’t? Then maybe you should have told us about it when you had the chance, and then we wouldn’t be in this situation,” Mello retorts.

L stands up, putting some space between himself and Mello, who has been standing over him this whole time. He begins pacing, his muscles stiff with agitation and making his hands tremble slightly. 

“If I had told you--either of you--you would have wanted to see it. It’s a moot point,” L says.

“That’s just an excuse to not tell us,” Mello says, jamming his hands under his armpits. “But fine. If you want to talk about danger, what the fuck is the deal with wanting to--to, what, keep Light?”

L pauses just long enough to frown at his brother. “He’s not a pet. I’m not keeping him.”

Mello laughs, a mean little sound. “You might as well be. He’s a novelty, right? So, what, you’re going to replace us with some guy who you thought might have been a serial killer?” 

“I’m not replacing anyone,” L replies tiredly. “I just think he would benefit from the experience.”

“Him?” Mello demands. “What about us? What about you? If he knows anything about where we live, or how we operate, we’re all in danger. Especially seeing as though you just got the real Kira killed. You don’t think when people figure out that he’s gone that your head is going to be the first people are going to be trying to get on the chopping block?”

This is true. Once the investigation is truly over, L is going to need to lay low for some time. The likelihood of extremist groups looking to take revenge for Kira’s demise is extraordinarily high. Anyone associated with Higuchi’s death could be a target, be it himself or the Task Force.

“So is Light,” L retorts. “Him and his family, not to mention the others. They’ll have to be secretive for the sake of their own families.”

“Then why the fuck are you pushing it?” Mello demands, his words slow like L is some kind of idiot who just isn’t processing what he’s saying. “Let’s get the Second Kira and get the fuck out of here. Don’t bring along some random.”

L sniffs irritably. “Light is my friend, not ‘some random’.”

A loud scoff follows L’s claim. “Your friend? You don’t have friends,” Mello says. “You’ve always been _too good_ for them. You have me and you have Near, and you just call us your ‘protégés’ or whatever.”

“Things change,” L informs him, all matter-of-fact and condescending in a way bound to piss Mello off.

This makes Mello bristle, and he takes an aggressive step towards L. “Are you bored?” he asks. “Is that it? You’re bored with the case now that Higuchi is gone, so you want to keep something from it?”

L raises his chin. “Your assessment skills are worsening, Mello,” he replies.

“Then tell me,” Mello says. “Just tell me, because I can’t wrap my mind around why you would put us in danger for some guy.”

“Perhaps Mello is blinded by jealousy,” L snaps right back, his tone unkind. “That my attention is somewhere other than himself.”

Mello’s mouth practically falls open. “What the hell?” he asks, and his hands fall to his sides in tight fists. “Who the fuck do you think you are? I’m not jealous of him, and I don’t need your attention.”

“Yes, of course. That’s why you’re behaving this way,” L replies dryly. “And have behaved as such ever since I gave Near the Babel title.”

L hardly has time to blink before Mello’s hand is fisting in his collar. Mello is a few inches shorter than him, although in the last couple of years he’s been catching up fast, and he has to yank L down to eye level. L’s expression remains unimpressed--he’s been pulled around by the collar plenty of times since meeting Light, and plenty of times before that.

“I should kick your ass. I deserved that title and you know it,” Mello snaps, and L knows he’s serious about it. Still, just as quickly as he’d grabbed him, Mello pushes him away like touching L is repulsive to him. “But it’s not worth it. Do it, then, see if I care when it all comes crumbling down around you,” he says. 

“I’ve thought it through,” L replies, his voice metered. “Nothing is going to happen.”

Mello’s shoved his hands in his pockets, and he laughs freely. “Sure. Just keep us out of it when it goes belly-up.”

L raises his chin. “Fine.” 

Just as quickly as he’d come, Mello turns and leaves. Once he’s out of sight, L tears off his shirt and takes a deep breath, relief flooding through him as the sullied material leaves his body. He drops it on his desk and stands there, sighing. L should really be used to this kind of thing by now.

Slowly sitting back in his chair, L opens his abused laptop and looks forlornly at a game over screen. Closing out of the program, he mulls over what to do before turning on a news livestream he likes to frequent. He rests his chin against his fist and tries to unwind by catching up on the outside world. 

Right now, it’s a woman in a white blouse discussing growing crime rates. The banner says, in bold text, CRIME SPIKES AFTER KIRA’S DISAPPEARANCE. It’s a pro-Kira station, he recalls after a moment, which puts a bad taste in his mouth. 

As he watches, it becomes apparent that the public at large is disturbed by the lack of action on Kira’s part, with people coming out of the woodwork to theorize about his absence like swarming little ants. They’re hungry for information, and just as bent on sharing their ideas on what happened--Kira’s taking a break, Kira’s hiding, Kira’s planning something. It gives L a headache, quite frankly. Kira’s dead, dead as doornails, and he isn’t coming back to save the day.

The Second Kira is another matter entirely, of course. L’s questioning is about as worthwhile as the conspiracy theorists on the television: Is the Second Kira taking a break? Is the Second Kira hiding? Is the Second Kira planning something? 

Is the Second Kira dead? 

Is L wasting his time? Will this be his first cold case, the most frustrating failure for the most exciting case he’s ever taken?

A pulse behind his eyes signals his headache making itself comfortable, and he turns off the livestream. Closing his eyes, he massages his temples with his index and middle fingers, letting the pressure points alleviate the pain. 

He needs a shirt. Watari is somewhere, who knows where--conspiring with Mello and Near, if he had to guess--so he gets up and ascends the spiral staircase that leads to the balcony overseeing the office. Several of his shirts are hanging from hooks here, so he takes one down and then steps through the doorway here into his bedroom.

The juxtaposition between the simplicity of this room and the ornamentation of the office just outside is jarring at first glance. His personal room is little more than four white walls and a bed jammed into the corner; the only other additions of note are a sparsely-filled bookcase set into the back wall and a series of monitors drilled into the wall opposite his bed, similar to the ones in the office. These are set to tap into the security feed of the hotel, so that while he’s resting he’s able to keep an eye on things, although they’re essentially computer monitors connected to his tablet which is currently resting on his unmade bed.

There’s only one bit of decoration in his bedroom; his ceiling is painted to resemble a sky, blue with white puffy clouds swirling around the center light. 

He shrugs on his shirt but leaves it unbuttoned, instead sitting on the edge of his bed and scrutinizing the security feed. Mello isn’t anywhere to be found in the basement levels or the lobby, but there’s a car in the parking lot, so he must be in one of the hotel rooms. Maybe Near’s. There’s nothing else of note going on.

He checks again. Still nothing.

When a third check yields yet again nothing of note, he collapses back on the bed. L has to admit that his thoughts are racing, just a bit, so he clasps his hands over his bare stomach, closes his eyes, and counts in his head. When he gets to seven, he starts over.

L falls asleep this way, still fully clothed and counting in his head like he’s being anesthetized. He does not dream tonight.


	7. you are the apple

Tonight, Light is eating dinner with his family.

He did the cooking, of course; Sayu watched a drama in the living room while his father worked on paperwork at the dining room table. The only thing unusual about this, however, is that his father is here at all.

It’s a bit tense at home; his father still asks about his plans for school and work between bites and his sister asks about an internship that doesn’t exist, and Light has to weave lies that come easier than he expects. When did he learn to deceive his family like this? He used to be such an open book.

He supposes he got it from L, who interweaves deception with the truth so effortlessly that it’s difficult to believe him even when he’s being honest, which comes more often than you might expect. It makes it difficult to understand what L is thinking, but if it makes it easier for Light to get through family meals, then he’ll have to thank him later.

Light’s setting the table for the meal, removing his father’s paperwork for him so that it doesn’t become messy. He’s working silently, so he’s surprised when his father speaks in a hushed tone, too low for Sayu to hear over the television she’s sitting far too close to to be healthy.

“You’ll have to take the train tomorrow morning,” he says. “I have a meeting with Goda about the investigation.”

Light takes a seat next to his father, leaning close. “Oh? What’s going on?”

His father sighs. “Well, good news and bad news. Kira’s gone, obviously, and he’s pleased about that, but since there’s been little to no activity since, he wants to disband the task force.”

“What?” Light hisses. “But we haven’t caught the Second Kira.”

“I know,” his father agrees. “But they aren’t convinced a Second Kira ever existed, despite the evidence to the contrary. I’m going to discuss it with them tomorrow.”

Light wishes that he could come; that he had any say with the NPA. He’s never wanted to be a member of the police before, but he thinks he could change their minds, if they would just listen to him. He thinks he could do some good. Leaving it to his father--to anyone else--leaves him feeling frustrated, wrung-out, useless. 

“Okay,” Light agrees, because he has no other choice.

The next morning, he’s on the train bright and early. It brings him within walking distance of the Oriental East Hotel. Today, the weather is nice, at the very least--a little chilly, but the air is clean and crisp and the sky is bright. 

He enters the hotel and takes the elevator down, as per usual. When he clears the security checkpoint and enters the office, however, he’s surprised to see the lights dimmed. For a second, he thinks he’s alone--which has never happened, not even when he briefly stayed here full-time--and then he hears L’s voice call from the elevated platform.

“Over here, Light,” he calls. His voice is soft, like he’s been sleeping, or like he’s trying to keep quiet. Light spots his legs sticking out of his white tent and walks over to stand by his feet.

“What’s going on?” Light asks, peering into the tent. 

L is laying on his back with an arm over his eyes. “I have a headache,” he murmurs. “It won’t leave me be. Feel free to work, however.”

Light crouches, resting his forearms on his knees. “It’s kind of hard to work in the dark, Ryuga.”

“I refuse to stay in my room any longer,” L informs him. “It’s terrible, frankly.”

“I see,” Light says, not understanding in the slightest.

Abruptly, L uncovers his eyes. His hair is slightly disheveled, which isn’t unusual, but his bangs are pushed up off of his forehead. He has another beauty mark by his hairline.

“Actually,” L says, “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Light raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

L nods, and then scoots slightly, twisting to lay on his side instead of his back. Light doesn’t understand until he realizes that L is making room for him in the tent.

“You want me to come in?” Light asks, incredulous.

L blinks at him like this isn’t unusual. “If Light wouldn’t mind,” he says.

Light sits back on his heels, thinking. Maybe it isn’t all that unusual, not with L. It might be a tight fit, though; L is slight but tall, a terrible gangle of limbs and joints and pointy bone that he jabs into Light whenever possible. Light himself prides himself on keeping physically fit, and his broad-shouldered physique might pose a challenge.

He gives it a whirl, however, gingerly crawling on all fours into the tent. He ends up laying on his side, propping his head up on his elbow and looking down at L. There’s really no wiggle room, with only a few inches separating the two of them. 

“Okay,” Light says, his voice measured as he tries not to blow air right into L’s face. What was the last thing he ate? “Here I am.”

L is using his own arm as a pillow, and he looks up at Light thoughtfully. “Here you are,” he agrees. Instead of getting right to the point, he asks, “How has Light enjoyed the investigation?”

It’s a strange question, and not what Light was expecting. “That’s what you wanted to ask me?”

“Just answer the question,” L replies. 

Light mulls over the question in his head. Has he enjoyed it? Can something like this be enjoyed freely?

He supposes he has--no, he knows it, if he’s being honest with himself. It’s been nice to do good, to vindicate himself and Misa, and to feel, well, worth something. To feel smart, and listened to, and even powerful. 

“It’s been--nice,” he admits. “Not being investigated myself, and obviously not Kira, but working with Countermeasures… it’s been interesting.”

L nods, like this is the answer he expected. “I feel that way as well,” he says. “Light knows why I take cases?”

“No, I don’t,” Light says, interest flashing across his face. “I didn’t really think about it.”

“I enjoy them,” L shares. “It’s a hobby. I find it fun.”

Light doesn’t really know what to think about this. He supposes it doesn’t surprise him; L has never been the moralistic type, and judging from the hotel he isn’t strapped for cash. 

“That makes sense,” he says slowly.

“What does Light find fun?” L asks abruptly, his wide eyes like lights cutting through fog. “What does he want to do? When the case is over. Has he put any thoughts into it?”

Light shrinks somewhat under L’s scrutiny. “I don’t know. I supposed I would go back to college.”

L doesn’t blink. “Suginami isn’t the worst Light could do, I suppose. Has Light considered detective work?”

“No,” Light says, although it’s not entirely honest of him. “I mean, not really. I never wanted to, after Mom died. You know that.”

“I do,” L agrees. “And that’s why I don’t mean the police.”

Light’s brow furrows. “I don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t care for it,” L says, “And I wouldn’t want you to waste your talents there. The police are fine and all, don’t get me wrong, but Light is far too brilliant for that.”

Embarrassment flashes across Light’s face at the praise. “I’m really not, but--then what?”

At this, L hesitates ever so slightly. It’s rare, and Light picks up on it, but it doesn’t last long. L is still staring. “I mean,” he says, “I wanted to ask--would Light like to stay and work with me?”

The moments hang in the air. L is looking at him with an expectant expression; Light is suddenly very painfully aware of the distance between the two of them. L’s breath warms his face in sporadic puffs of air.

“Are you serious?” Light asks, his mouth dry.

“Yes, completely.”

Light finds himself feeling--happy, actually. His face lights up in joy, cracking a wide smile. “Then--yes. Yes, I would love to.”

And then L beams, his smile radiant and gleeful, and Light has never seen the other man so pleased. In this moment, L is beautiful; a beautiful man with a beautiful mind. Light wants to reach forward and embrace him, to hug him senseless for how blissful he’s made him.

Just as the thought forms, however, L sits up--very nearly concussing Light in the process--and scoots out of the tent with a practiced ease. Light is left dumbfounded, not by L but by his own thought processes. What was that? It was certainly a strange way to consider his friend, a sort of affectionate admiration he rarely, if ever felt with previous friends, even girlfriends, and that thought on its own is enough to nearly send him into a nervous tailspin--except L is talking.

“--can come with me,” L says, apparently in the middle of planning… something. Their future? The thought makes a thrill of something between anxiety and excitement bloom in Light’s gut. “I typically work out of England, but until Light brushes up on his English skills we can remain in Japan.” 

“Wait,” Light says, and his mouth is still so dry it comes out as a raw vocalization. He swallows hard and then repeats, clearer this time, “Wait.”

L stops in his tracks--when did he start pacing?--and gives Light enough time to scoot out of the tent and sit up. 

“One--one step at a time, okay?” Light asks. “I still-- I need to talk to my family. And I need to make sure that Sayu is going to be okay. Did you say England?”

“I did,” L confirms. “And of course. My apologies for the excitement; this would not be happening immediately. We still have to solve this case, after all.” 

“What about school?” Light asks. “I haven’t finished my degree.”

L waves him off dismissively. “An economics degree isn’t so important. I didn’t go to college,” he shares, giving Light a conspiratorial smirk. “I was taught by Watari and my own research, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to get you up to speed.”

The idea of dropping out of school is daunting; his father isn’t going to like it, first of all, and he’s already spent so much time on it. He doesn’t think his father would disown him or anything extreme like that, but the thought of disappointing his father forms a hard rock in his gut.

But then again, it isn’t as though he’s dropping out to be a stay-at-home shut-in; working with L is prestigious, to say the least, and if anyone would understand the desire to work in criminal justice it would be his father.

If Light is honest with himself, though, this is just--what he wants. He doesn’t want to work in economics. He doesn’t want to work in the public service. He doesn’t want to live his days searching for nothing more than peace and stability. He wants more, now; it’s a hunger that’s always lurked under the surface but gone ignored. 

That hunger is awake now, prowling in the back of his mind. He wants more. 

“All right,” Light says, pushing himself onto a knee and then standing. “But I still need to talk to them.”

L nods, a quick bobbing motion. “Of course, of course. Take all the time you need.”

Dusting off his pants, Light steps past L and down from the split-level platform. Casting his glance around the darkened room, he looks back at L.

“How is your headache?” he asks.

L’s expression turns pensive. “Better,” he decides, sounding surprised to find it so. 

“Then can we turn on the lights?”

In lieu of a response, L steps down and walks over to his laptop, which he flips open. Squinting into the blue light, he opens a program and taps away at his keys; after a moment, the artificial overhead lighting flickers on.

L straightens up. “There you go,” he says.

Light sits down at his computer, but doesn’t get to work right away. Instead, he turns his chair to face L. 

“I had an idea,” he says. “About how to find the Second Kira.”

Dropping into the seat beside him, L pulls his legs up and wraps his arms around them. “Oh?”

“Well, if Higuchi did really meet up with them--and kill them--then it’s likely he used the Note to do so, right?”

“I suppose,” L agrees.

Light leans forward. “Well, that means that their name would be in the Note. If we look through the book and find a name that doesn’t match up with a known criminal--or someone that Yotsuba would have benefitted from killing--then that might be the Second Kira.”

With an inclination of the head, L gives Light a look of acknowledgement. “That presupposes that the Second Kira truly is dead. Furthermore, it seems that Higuchi culled the pages every so often; most of his early murders aren’t present in the book.”

“Well, it’s better than nothing,” Light argues. “You said yourself that we’re not getting anywhere.”

“That’s true,” L allows, nodding. All at once, he stands. “Wait there, then.” 

It takes L less than five minutes to procure the book; it apparently was stored close by. He disappears and reappears from the doorway above the spiral staircase within moments. 

“Here,” he says, pulling it out of the plastic packaging. “Light can do the busy work, since it’s his idea.”

“Thanks,” Light replies sarcastically, taking the book in hand--

His hand is trembling.

Looking down at his desk, there’s a notebook with a scribbled-out name: GENBU SAKOTA. Just below it is another, written in a script rendered nearly illegible by the shaking of the hand that wrote it: Kurou Otoharada. 

He leans forward and then he’s on the edge of a rooftop and he’s nearly falling; his stomach rises into his throat and terror clinches it; he’s going to die like this, he’s sorry, he’s sorry, he’s sorry--

The voice that stops him tells him to take what’s his--he’s writing names--he’s casting judgments.

The man on the TV tells him he’s evil, and he writes the name presented. Mistake, mistake, mistake. 

The boy in the shower tells him to be his friend. It fills him with a fury so profound that he could murder him here and now, if only he had his name.

The girl with the note tells him she’d die for him, and then just like that she’s gone.

The shinigami in white tells him to save her or die.

His hand is trembling.

He sees the shinigami again, note in hand, and the detective is watching him expectantly and he failed, he failed more spectacularly than he could have ever dreamed, he was shot and now the Note can’t be reclaimed, because he doesn’t know his name.

He has it again.

Light remembers to regulate his breathing before he starts to scream and blow the whole thing wide open. His hand is so tight on the notebook that his knuckles have gone stark white, so he places it down on the desk and opens it to the first page, being sure to keep his hands on it the entire time. He pretends to read.

How could this have happened?

He hadn’t taken into account that he would fall for his own bullshit. Light wants to take himself by the collar and scream: the best friend act was just that; an act, a ruse, a way to get closer to L to kill him. You weren’t supposed to take a bullet for him! 

Last time he had the Note, he had no time to do anything. L had snatched it out of his hands as the memories formed. Now, he’s going to make good use of the time he has.

First, he looks to L. He’s watching his show, the bastard. Fine by Light--it means that he’s not paying any attention to what he’s doing.

While L is distracted, Light pulls the crown of his watch four times. Just as it should, the secret compartment slides right open, revealing the missing piece of the Note and the pin that were intended to be used to kill Higuchi. He can’t kill L with it--if only it were that easy--but he can, potentially, retain his memories.

He pulls out the piece gingerly, careful not to clink the needle against the metal. He then shuts the compartment with a quiet snap.

The piece isn’t intended to be used, now. Instead, he slides it underneath the watch, where the metal would press it against his skin until removed. He twists his wrist as though stretching, testing it; nothing falls out.

Holding his breath, he experimentally lifts his other hand from the Note.

Nothing. He knows who he is.

With a rush of air, Light sighs. That’s one problem not quite taken care of, but he can’t exactly walk out of here with the entire Death Note. It might pose a problem the next time he showers, but he’ll figure that out then.

He can still salvage this. The first thing he needs to do is get into contact with Misa and restore her memories. If she can take the eye deal again and come visit, this can all be solved easily.

He can still win. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Adaptation note: In the tv drama, Misa retains her memories without ownership of her Death Note by keeping a scrap of it against her skin at all times; the same logic is being used here.)


	8. intervention

“The Second Kira is active again!”

Matsuda bursts into a Countermeasures that’s been imbued with new life; in addition to the four regulars found in L, Light, Soichiro, and Watari, the rest of the team--Himura, Aizawa, Mogi, and now Matsuda--has seen fit to join them.

“We know, Matsuda,” Soichiro replies dryly.

L is sitting behind Soichiro with his legs thrown over the armrest of the chair he’s commandeered. “Indeed,” he agrees, “I would like to thank Matsuda for finally showing up; I was beginning to believe he’d taken the day off.”

Matsuda stammers indignantly. “I-- Look, I haven’t been setting my alarm, okay? I came as soon as I saw the news.”

“What matters is that you’re here,” Himura demurs. 

While Matsuda nervously claims his usual seat, L looks over the table. 

“Well, it’s very nice to have you all back,” L drawls. “I was just beginning to believe that I had seen the last of you.”

“If only,” Aizawa mutters. “Wouldn’t it be a good thing if Kira never returned?”

Light looks up from his laptop. “Not if it means they go unpunished,” he says. 

L notes that Light has seemed pleased, almost gleeful since the news, in subtle ways. L can tell--it’s the brightness in his eyes, how springy he is when he walks. There’s something there that hasn’t been there in the last few months, and L chalks it up to that spark being revitalized by a change in the case.

“Yes, Light is correct,” L drawls. “And, even if not, I would prefer a proper debriefing than an endless scavenger hunt, wouldn’t you?” 

“Indeed,” Soichiro agrees. He leans forward in his chair. “I would prefer it if we were back on-topic.”

L stands, clasping his hands behind his back. He circles the table like a vulture. “All right, then. In that case, would Yagami like to bring us up to speed on what we’ve discussed so far, for Matsuda’s sake?”

Soichiro nods. “Deaths began before dawn this morning and are still ongoing. They’re making up for lost time; there have been over three hundred known murders.”

“Three hundred?” Matsuda gasps. Higuchi, even at his most active, averaged about sixty a day. “That’s insane!” 

“We’ve yet to see whether or not this number levels with time, though,” Mogi argues. “It’s possible that this is just because of how long they were hiding out.”

“That’s true,” L agrees. “But we can’t prove that’s the case until it happens. Still, it is a significant break from the Second Kira’s previous style. I’ve believed them to be a woman, judging from the previous targets primarily being perpetrators of mild crimes against women--perverts, peeping toms, sexual offenders, rapists.”

Soichiro breaks in, “But that isn’t the case now.”

L steps over to the large glass whiteboard on the far side of the table, examining it. There’s a short list of victims; not nearly all of them are listed, unlike the first time the Second Kira was active, merely the most notorious. 

“There’s a far greater range of crimes,” L agrees, “And they’re far more high-profile and heinous. The likelihood of them being female based on this alone is, well, fifty-fifty, although I still suspect they’re based in Japan.”

“Are we sure this is the same Kira?” Aizawa asks. “If they aren’t acting the same, how do we know?”

Mogi says, “We don’t.”

Raising a hand to his face, L rubs his jaw thoughtfully with his hand. “That’s true,” he agrees. “But it’s almost certain that the Second Kira met the first, and it’s also possible that Higuchi gave them some sort of instruction, in order to make them a better ally.”

Using Aizawa’s alias he adds, “And Aihara forgets the most important thing.”

Aizawa frowns. “What?”

Light speaks up, after a prolonged silence. “They still don’t need a name.”

“Light, as always, is correct,” L says. It would be praise if it weren’t delivered so matter-of-fact. He takes a white whiteboard marker and begins circling select pictures of the deceased criminals on the board. “Several of these murders are of criminals whose names were not released to the public. This leads me to believe that if the current acting Kira and the Second Kira are not one and the same, then they possess the same powers.”

“And it doesn’t really matter if they’re the same,” Light goes on. “Second or Third or a dozen, what’s important is that we catch them.”

L eyes Light in his peripheral vision. For whatever reason, his words feel a little flashy, like he’s trying to prove something. It’s unusual for someone who normally appears so plain, with occasional flashes of brilliance peeking through the cracks.

“Indeed,” he repeats after a moment of hesitation. “For the time being, we will be going forward under the assumption that this is the Second Kira, although I will be keeping an eye on that. Does anyone else have anything to add?”

Silence roars across the board. Everyone glances at each other, as if expecting someone to say something, but no one does.

L blinks, once, slowly. “All right. I suppose that’s a sign that we should get to work.”

It’s the busiest day they’ve had in months. The seven of them work consistently for the next few hours, occasionally speaking up to discuss a thread of thought. L feels no need to distract himself with something else just for idle stimulation.

There are a few more deaths, but it seems that the majority of them occurred in the early morning; it never rises above four hundred. It doesn’t make the number any less daunting, but it suggests that the number will even out to something lower in the future--or at least, that’s what L proposes.

In the early evening, they break for dinner. The majority of the task force is collecting their personal possessions and preparing to go out. L supposes that they’re still excited about an advancement in the case. He can’t blame them.

He himself is busy reviewing the data he has. He’s watching the final video of Higuchi taken from surveillance footage of the modeling agency. 

_Shinigami… Let’s make a trade._

L rolls the footage back, watching it over again, as he’s done dozens of times now. It’s obvious that he’s talking to the Shinigami Rem, but the trade that he’s discussing...

Light, instead of getting ready with his father, sidles over to talk to L. His posture is loose and casual.

“Hey,” Light says. He doesn’t sit beside L, just stands there. “Do you want to go out to dinner with me and Misa tonight?”

L doesn’t look at Light, still staring at the screen. “This trade of his…” he muses. “Maybe it’s a trade to let him know someone’s name just by seeing their face?”

Before Light can answer, L turns his head. “Why do you want to have dinner?”

“You’ve finally cleared us of suspicion,” Light says. “So I wanted to introduce you to Misa properly, as a friend.”

L wants to say that her ever being friendly with him is a far-flung possibility, but he’s interrupted by his bluetooth earpiece beeping, notifying him that he’s being called. He raises it to his ear.

“Yes?” he asks.

“ _L,_ ” Watari’s voice crackles in. “ _There’s been an update from the Amane household monitor._ ”

L turns his head to the side. He hums for Watari to continue.

“ _She was attacked by a man,_ ” he says. “ _She’s in the emergency room. Do you want me to keep an eye on her?_ ”

“Yes,” L confirms, before hanging up and turning to Light.

“Light,” he begins, “It seems that dinner will be impossible.”

Brows furrowing, Light asks, “Why?”

“I’m afraid she’s been attacked by a thug.”

Light’s eyes go wide with disbelief. “What?” he asks.

L just stares back at him.

“That’s not possible, she--” He stiffens. “I have to go.”

L turns back to his computer, where Higuchi is frozen in place, staring at nothing. He looks up to ask Light something, but he’s already gone.

* * *

Finding the perpetrator is easy enough. 

L isn’t worried about that; when Light and his father storm into the Countermeasures headquarters, Light begging his father to help him find the person who attacked Misa, L is quick to offer up his services. It isn’t even difficult--it’s a triviality at most to scan the security cameras surrounding the forest Amane had disappeared into for no reason that anyone can offer up.

The assailant is a man named Yudagawa Hiroki. At 31 years old, he’s an ex-member of Agility Detective Agency who’s made a name for himself as a sort of freelance detective; not that he’s had much luck with it, judging from his personal debts that seem to stretch a mile long.

He’s clearly trailing Misa, right up until the two of them disappear into that forest. When he comes out, he’s alone, this time carrying a metal box under an arm.

L is considering this in Near’s hotel suite, laying on his back and examining Yudagawa’s case file. It’s frustrating to him, the situation at hand, and he was hoping that time with his sibling would help clear the air.

“Isn’t Yudagawa the most suspicious?” Near asks him, sitting on the floor. They climb on all fours and lean over to peer at him. “Should we ask him for you? If what he stole from Amane was a Death Note?”

Light claims that nothing was stolen from the scene--if that’s his lie or Amane’s, it’s hard to discern. Why he would lie is beyond L, unless--

Unless this is related to the return of Kira murders, which simultaneously makes no sense and is the only option L can see given the evidence right in front of him.

It makes no sense because Light isn’t Kira, nor is Amane; Light has gone above and beyond to prove his innocence. Even if he hadn’t, even if L’s theory that the Note affects one’s memories, Light should have had his return long before now, perhaps when Higuchi died, or perhaps when he touched the Note for the first time. 

“That’s what you think, isn’t it?” Near presses. 

Even if that was the case, that he was operating without his memories, there’s the 13-day rule. According to the Note itself, Light and Misa are innocent.

Of course, that rule makes the Second Kira’s absence difficult to explain, but L can think of excuses for that all day long: the Second Kira was killing people with methods other than a heart attack; the Second Kira was killing so few people that they went under the radar, even with the hyper vigilance; the Second Kira is dead and this is a third Kira altogether; the Second Kira was a Shinigami, for whom the 13-day-rule does not apply.

The last one is a little bit out there, he’ll admit it, but the others could hold water. 

Despite all of this, the chance of Amane being attacked and having something stolen from her the same day that Kira returns--it’s difficult to swallow as a coincidence on top of Light’s deceit.

L sits up, crossing one knee over the other, and recites: “‘If the person using the Note fails to consecutively write names of people to be killed within 13 days of each other, then the user will die.’ That makes the two of them completely innocent. Because of this rule…”

Because of this rule, Light and Misa cannot be Kira. 

“Hey, L,” Near begins, their expression turning plaintive. “About what you said before…”

Whatever it is they plan on saying, they’re interrupted by Watari’s arrival. L loses interest as the two of them become immersed in conversation.

His attention shifts to the Shinigami in the corner, who has been looming behind Near. The two of them had been introduced earlier, to Near’s utmost excitement. She had seemed unmoved by the entire affair.

Now, Rem looks--well. L has never seen so much expression on her features; he had assumed that Shinigami don’t have the same capacity for facial movement as a human, but he was wrong. Her bat-like nostrils are flared wide, her fangs bared; it’s a mask of rage that she wears upon her face now.

He only has a moment to react--mouth falling open with a loud gasp--before she unfurls her great wings and disappears through the roof.

Near and Watari look over at him in concern, but he’s already getting up.

“L,” Near asks. “What is it?”

L is still staring at the ceiling. 

“L?” Near repeats, sounding increasingly worried.

Snapping out of his surprise, L looks to his sibling, who is sitting next to a large strawberry shortcake--Watari’s specialty. He fidgets with his sleeves for a moment.

“Nothing,” he replies. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next few chapters are going to occasionally coincide with and alter canonical events from episode eight, so don't be surprised if things are a little familiar. it'll permanently diverge again soon.


	9. your brand new history

Sitting in his lonely room in the upper section of Countermeasures, Light rests his head on his hands. It’s a barren little room, utterly undecorated, like a hotel room lacking even the facade of hominess. The only sight to see is the freeway stretching behind the hotel, speeding off into the distance; it’s dark but for the neon lights of passing vehicles far below. He doesn’t understand how things have gone so far off track--his plan was perfect, or so he thought.

Nothing has gone according to plan.

It started with Higuchi shooting him. Everything went wrong the moment he couldn’t get his hands on the Death Note and was shipped off to the hospital instead. Higuchi didn’t even have the decency to stay alive long enough for Light to kill him. 

L has custody of the note, if Rem following him around like a dog on a leash is any indication, and Light can’t fucking kill him either. Misa was supposed to get her memories and write his name, but some freelance detective stole it and now it’s being used. His airtight alibi--the thirteen day rule, not to mention being shot-- is wearing thin by the day, if L questioning him about Misa’s attack is any indication. He found the detective, but the bastard got away before he could tell him what he did with it. 

And now this new Kira is whipping everyone up again. 

It’s a disaster. He needs to find this new Kira as soon as possible. He needs to kill L and get the Death Note back. He needs to-- he needs to--

He hasn’t had a panic attack in weeks. Months, perhaps--not since his confinement, or a little before. It’s unbecoming for someone like him. He thought he was better than that, but now he’s clenching his hands against his forehead and feeling his pulse roar in his ears. 

What can he do? He doesn’t have the Note. He doesn’t have any allies. All he has is a tiny strip of paper barely big enough for one name and someone out there pretending to be him. 

If they catch the new Kira, it’s over. They’ll have the second Death Note--worse, they’ll have whoever this person is. They’ll find the note Light wrote for Misa, or the new Kira will rat them out.

Something burns in Light’s throat, and he swallows hard. If they find the new Kira, they’ll know that Misa was Kira, which means everything will fall apart. Everything.

Terror clenches at Light’s jugular like a wild dog. He gasps, practically sliding off of the bed and onto his hands and knees. His eyes sting despite his best efforts to the contrary. In front of him, the moonlight cuts a line across the bedroom floor. Even as he desperately runs his hands through his own hair, he notes how dust seems to float through the strip of moonlight and disappear into the darkness. Nobody’s likely ever dusted in here.

The thought, absurd as it is, makes him laugh. It’s a high, nervous little thing, and the moment it hits his own ears it’s over. He’s rocked to the core with giggles, still combing his fingers through his hair, and does he need a haircut, too? And isn’t that just the funniest thing?

His eyes squeeze shut and he laughs hard enough that his ribs ache, that he has to gasp for each ragged breath, that his cheeks are damp. He goes down on his elbows and knees, hair hanging in his face.

He doesn’t notice the shadow in the corner until it speaks.

“Light Yagami,” it intones, and he jerks his head upwards, eyes wide, just to see a familiar bent shape.

“Rem,” he gasps, wiping his face hurriedly with the back of his hand. “What--What are you doing here?”

She blinks down at him impassively. “L suspects Misa. What did you do?”

Of course she’s only here to make things worse. Light drags both of his hands down his face, feeling himself teetering at the mouth of hysteria. 

“You know what the plan was,” Light scoffs into his palms. 

There’s a dusty huff of air. Light belatedly realizes that Rem is laughing at him. “Was that still happening?”

Light places his hands on the floor, palm-down, feeling utterly wrung-out and disheveled. “Not anymore. The Note was stolen. I don’t know what to do.”

Rem’s upper lip curls into a scowl, revealing fang. “Your actions have put Misa in danger.”

“I know,” Light snaps. “We’re all in danger. I can’t do anything about it. Why don’t you write his name, if you’re so worried about her?”

Silence prevails as Rem blinks her great, glassy eye at Light. Her pupil seems to contract to hardly more than a sliver of black as she regards him.

“I can’t do that,” she says. “It would kill me.”

“Of course,” Light begins to spit out, but he’s interrupted by that ash-textured voice.

“However,” she says. “There is something I can do for you. If I give you his name, you can write it yourself.”

Light feels his heart pound out a staccato rhythm in his chest. “You-- Ryuk wouldn’t do that.”

She leans forward slightly, her chest creaking. “I am not Ryuk. Now listen closely.”

Sudden, inexplicable panic bubbles in Light’s core, perhaps residual from his panic attack. “Wait,” he stammers. “Wait-- Wait. I can’t. I can’t. Not yet.”

Surprise crosses Rem’s face, clear as crystal. “Why not?”

That’s a good question. Light can’t explain the terror that clenches his heart at the knowing of L’s true name--it should taste like victory. He’s about to win. Killing L is a good thing, a blessing, an accomplishment. It’s all he wants, right?

“I’m--I’m not ready,” Light says lamely. “I need… I need the Death Note. He has it. If I kill him without it, Watari will get it before I do.”

Rem looks unconvinced by his weak explanation. “If you wait for too long, Misa will be caught.”

Light nods, scrambling to his feet. “I know. I know. Just give me time. I just need more time to get the Notebook again.”

“And then L dies?” Rem asks. 

Light takes a deep breath and holds it.

“And then L dies,” he agrees.

It’s quiet for a long few moments as Rem surveys Light. Traffic continues outside, headlights flashing distantly through the window and illuminating Light’s ceiling; the world spins on.

Eventually, Rem nods. “Fine. Whatever it takes to keep Misa safe.”

“She’ll be fine,” Light mutters, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Rem doesn’t grace him with a reply; she merely turns on her boney heels and disappears through the wall.

Relieved, Light scoots back on the bed and sags against the wall. There’s a feeling under the surface of his skin, a thrumming buildup of energy that could be excitement or anxiety.

L is going to die soon. Light’s stomach flips.

This is what he wants. He can win. It’s L or him now; it always has been, even if he lost sight of that. 

He becomes distantly aware that his hands are shaking. Clenching them into fists, he lays down on the side and jams them under his head. He’s fine. This is a good thing.

Light isn’t able to sleep the rest of the night. He’s far too high-strung, a rope pulling tighter and tighter as dawn approaches rather than relaxing. When the sky begins to turn blue he sits up and automatically pulls on a change of clothing, intending to go down to the office and pretend to get to work. Maybe he’ll be able to convince L to get him the note for some test.

Before he can leave, he’s surprised by a knock to his door. 

When he opens it, L is standing on the other side, looking--well, looking no different from normal, other than being out of place outside of the office. He’s standing there with his hands folded behind his back, examining the crown molding or something equally asinine. He perks up as Light answers.

“Light! You look terrible, did you get any sleep last night at all?” he inquires cheerfully.

“Wow. Good morning to you too.”

Sheepishness breaks across L’s face. “My apologies. It wasn’t my intention to be rude, I’m just worried Light isn’t going to be up for today.”

Light shakes his head, running his hand down his face. “No, I--I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Good,” L says, bobbing his head in a nod. “I should hope so. I have plans for Light this morning, if he doesn’t mind accompanying me.”

“Are we going somewhere?” Light asks, surprised. 

L tips his head to his side. “Hmm. In a way,” he muses. “Not outside the building, certainly, but not the Countermeasures office.”

Light blinks. “I see. And what are we going to be doing?”

“I was hoping Light would come and see,” L replies vaguely.

Light really doesn’t have time for L’s nonsense today, but he can’t say he’s not curious to know what L wants to show him. Maybe it’s the Note, he thinks, and the thought makes him feel weird. Either way, it can’t hurt to humor the man.

Briefly looking back at his room, Light scans it before sighing. “All right. I’m already dressed. Are we going now?”

L nods again. “Yes. I was hoping to do this before the rest of the team arrived for the day.”

“I see.” The last time L went out of his way to separate Light from the task force like this was to show him Rem, wasn’t it? Light sobers considerably--it should be important. “Lead the way, then.”

L wastes no time, turning and walking down the hallway to the elevator. He doesn’t move so quickly that Light can’t keep up with him, but the pace is certainly hurried. Light’s guts are still churning from his night, and he can’t help but feel anticipation for whatever L is about to show him. 

In the elevator, he’s surprised to see that L jams one of the elevator levels that requires the fingerprint scanner to access -- one of the private subterranean levels, below even Countermeasures. Light wonders exactly how deep this place is. 

He bounces anxiously on his feet. L glances his way briefly.

“Light is full of energy,” he comments idly. “Good.”

Light has no idea what in the world that means, and L doesn’t seem keen to elaborate. It’s a little maddening.

It’s less so when the elevator slows to a halt and the door grinds upwards, revealing one room which must be the same size as Countermeasures, if not bigger. The middle of the room is bisected by a low net, and the far side is absolutely littered with fist-sized green balls. It’s suddenly extremely apparent to Light what’s going on here, and he looks at L with a disbelieving look.

“Your important plans are-- tennis?” he asks, utterly flabbergasted. 

L blinks at Light. “I never said it was important,” he murmurs. “But yes, I was hoping Light would play a game with me.”

Light steps into the room, feeling a little stupid. “You put a tennis court under Countermeasures?”

Following him in, L clasps his hands behind his back. The wall on the right, the closer one, has a bench with some tennis equipment piled on top of it rather haphazardly--L begins wandering in that direction, so Light follows him.

“I find that physical activity helps me think,” L explains as he walks. “I resort to pacing, guided meditation, the occasional jog around the office.”

Light is trying to imagine L jogging in circles around Countermeasures instead of paying attention to his surroundings, so when L stops walking he walks directly into his back, very nearly bowling the man over. L blinks in surprise at Light, taking another step away before leaning down to pick up a tennis racket.

He goes on, “Occasionally, that fails me, so I’ll come down here and practice my serve. It’s a little tedious, if we’re being honest, and that’s where my offer comes in. I have some things I need to work through, you see, the kind that I would like to get the blood pumping for.”

“What kind of things?” Light asks, gingerly taking the tennis racket when L holds it out to him between two fingers. “We couldn’t just have a conversation?”

L smiles thinly at Light. “I’m afraid not.”

Light sighs, testing the racket in his hand. It’s a comfortable grip. “Well, in that case, I’ll be happy to have a rematch.”

This answer brightens L considerably, and he smiles lopsidedly at Light, practically bouncing on his heels. “Excellent,” he trills, leaning down and picking up a racket of his own. “Light won the last game, so he can serve. Oh, but all of the balls are on the other side of the room, so he’ll have to play on that side.”

“Great,” Light replies, shaking his head. As he walks to the other side of the room, he pushes his t-shirt sleeves up over his shoulders, which he likes to think improves his range of motion. On the other side of the net, he picks up one of the many tennis balls littering the floor, presumably from L ‘practicing his serve,’ and tosses it in the air idly a couple of times.

“Any day now, Light,” L calls.

Giving L an annoyed look, Light tosses the ball one last time before smacking it across to L’s side of the court, beginning the match.

The first time they played, it was a good game. The two of them were fairly evenly matched, despite appearances, and Light didn’t carry away his victory so much as claim it by the skin of his teeth. This time, Light can feel the scales tipping away from him--he hasn’t played in months by now, and since the last time he practiced he spent a couple of weeks trapped in a tiny room unable to move more than a few feet in any direction. He still knows the techniques, but his endurance has suffered in his failure to keep up.

Not one to give up, this just means he has to push himself harder than last time. It helps that L seems distracted, true to his word; he’s clearly got his mind elsewhere. It’s annoying, actually, that he doesn’t even have L’s full attention and he’s having to work harder than him. But isn’t that always the case?

By the next hour, he’s worked up a considerable sweat: his back is completely drenched, his shirt sticking to his skin uncomfortably. L looks a little fazed as well, his hair pushed out of his face and his shirt slightly untucked. They’re more evenly matched than last time: L has won five matches, Light four. At this rate, they might have to do a tie breaker game at six each.

Light pulls up his shirt to wipe his brow on the front. When he lowers it, he catches L looking.

L catches Light catching him. “Ew,” he says, in defense. He’s grating on Light’s nerves by this point in the game, even if Light is having fun despite himself.

“You’re as sweaty as I am,” Light mutters, twirling his net and picking up another discarded tennis ball. “How is your thinking coming?”

“I’m still at an impasse,” L informs him. “We’ll just have to keep going.”

Light rolls his eyes. The task force is probably going to arrive soon. “Fine.”

He serves again, and the next match starts.

It begins just as well as the others, a steady back-and-forth volley. At one point, though, one of L’s shots sails wide and Light nearly sprints to hit it--L’s a point ahead and if he misses it then he’s officially lost the game.

He’s just about to hit it when his shoe lands on a stray tennis ball and his ankle folds under him. Throwing out his left hand to save himself, he lands horribly on his wrist--

Light is on the ground.

Light does not know he’s ended up on the ground, precisely, but he’s on the ground and looking up at the ceiling, which is patterned with artificial lights like Countermeasures but missing the painted sky trim.

He gets a sense of deja-vu as L’s face appears, haloed in the light like an angel. His brows are drawn in concern.

“Light,” he says, bending in far closer than Light thinks is strictly necessary. “Are you okay? Are you in any pain?”

Is he? Actually, now that L mentions it, his ankle is feeling pretty sore. That’s probably from him twisting it. 

“I might have sprained my ankle,” he offers. L offers him a hand to take, which Light accepts gladly. 

Now that Light is sitting up, L looks behind him at something and frowns. He steps past him and Light turns his head to see him crouch down and pick something up. A deep frown crosses his expression, just barely seen from this angle.

“What is it?” Light asks. 

L looks back at him, and Light just barely notices him slipping something into his pocket.

“Ah,” L says, turning. “It’s nothing, just--” The hand that isn’t in his pocket reaches out, palm-up. In his hand is Light’s wristwatch.

Light does a double take, looking at his wrist as though it might somehow still be there. It’s obviously not, so he reaches out and takes the watch in hand, examining it. It appears as though when he fell, the clasp broke.

“Dammit,” Light mutters, fiddling with it. “My dad gave this to me.”

“Is it broken?” L asks.

“Yeah. I mean, not the clock, just the part that keeps it on.”

L holds out his hand again. “I can have Watari fix it for you, then.”

Surprise, and then hope, crosses Light’s expression. “Can he do that?” 

“Yes,” L confirms. “Watari is very good at fixing things.”

Gingerly, Light places the watch back in L’s hand. L slips it, too, into his pocket. 

“Well,” L says. “Given the circumstances, I’m not keen on gloating about my victories. I will say, however, that I have had a… revelation of sorts. Thank you, Light.”

Light blinks, rubbing his wrist. It feels naked without his watch--he feels a strange sense of anxiety that he can’t explain at the thought. “I’m glad I can help.”

L nods, seeming distant. Light extends a hand to him, which L looks at blankly before seeming to realize what Light is doing and placing his hand in Light’s to shake. 

“Are you all right?” Light asks, brow furrowed. “You’re acting weird.”

Removing his hand from Light’s, L shakes it slightly in the air. “Yes, I’m fine. Just in dire need of a shower. Light should take one as well,” L informs. 

“I was going to,” Light objects, but L steamrolls him.

“Let’s go, then,” he interrupts. “I would like to get started for the day.”

Light passes his hand along his naked wrist again as L turns on a heel and begins walking toward the elevator. He has a sinking feeling in his stomach, getting the odd feeling that something’s happened as he follows L out.


	10. golden antlers

Things are sliding into place too quickly for L to keep track of.

He’d felt stumped by the current situation, trapped between what he wants to be true and what is becoming increasingly apparent, between what the rules of the Note suggest and what the reality of the situation is rapidly becoming.

L had wanted to play a game to clear his head. He hadn’t expected evidence to fall in his lap in the process.

The rest of the day is spent in tense silence--when he’d emerged from the shower, the rest of the Task Force had already arrived and Light soon after that, so he has to wait to be alone until the end of the day. A maddening experience, to be sure.

It’s increasingly apparent that Light is different than he was yesterday. He throws himself into his work, eager to please and eager to make progress. It’s more genuine. The whole experience illuminates how odd he’s been the last few days, like shining a flashlight through paper--he’s utterly transparent. How L didn’t notice is beyond him.

Still, he knows now. The blinders have been removed. The only ambiguity lies in the specifics: if Light has changed, it must be because of the Note. Even if that’s the case, the 13-day rule should apply. 

And yet Misa Amane recently had a notebook stolen from her during a strange trek in the woods right before murders began again. 

Near and Mello had learned as much the day before. Near had called him to say that the two of them had broken into Yudagawa’s apartment and Mello had interrogated the man. All they’d learned was that what he stole from Amane was, in fact, a notebook, and that it had been given to a public prosecutor--then he’d died of a heart attack. How coincidental. 

It was this event that had L knocking down Light’s door this morning asking to play a game to gather his thoughts.

L has spoken at length with Rem, discussing the Note and its rules. The Shinigami has always been vague, but she was adamant about one thing--all of the rules should be legitimate. That should mean that they’re innocent.

But then there was the other day, when he was discussing Amane’s attack with Near, when the rule had come up. He recalls catching Rem staring; that look of fury plastered upon her otherworldly features, more emotion than he knew it possible for her to express. Something about the conversation affected her. The Shinigami might not be an unbiased player in all of this. She might be on their side.

She might have falsified those rules.

He spends the day letting the Yagamis take the reins on the investigation, lost in thought. Light lingers at the end of the day, hovering in the periphery of L’s vision.

It isn’t until everyone else is gone that Light asks, “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know what Light means,” L replies.

“You’ve been checked out all day,” Light argues. “I haven’t seen you so out of it since the Second Kira came back. What’s the problem?”

L looks at Light, whose expression is drawn with concern. He’s really such an open book. “Nothing. I’m going to retire soon, so there’s no need for Light to stay late.”

Light sighs in frustration, but he seems to be used to L withholding information from him, because he gathers his things and disappears through the double doors. 

On the screens, L watches Light enter the lobby and pause, seeming to consider his options before walking out the front door. So he’s going home for the night. Perfect.

Once Light has left the building, L calls Watari over. His mentor is quick to shuffle to his desk, expectant.

“Watari,” L says. “Would you retrieve the Note from storage? I need to see something.”

Watari looks surprised. “You have the photocopies on hand. You need the original?”

“I do,” L confirms. “Go.”

The older man mutters something about L’s willfulness before disappearing into the elevator, taken down into the lower levels of Countermeasures. There’s a vault there, perfect for storing important evidence. L would prefer that the Death Note didn’t enter the custody of the police for the time being--it’s likely they would never see it again.

It’s about twenty minutes later that Watari drops the notebook on L’s desk, wrapped in plastic. L is quick to extract it as Watari stares over his shoulder. 

He has to flip through it to find the page he’d examined many times before--the page with the missing piece. 

Reaching into his pocket, he retrieves what he’d found, what had dropped off Light Yagami during their tennis match, and compares the tiny piece of paper to the missing section.

Behind him, Watari sucks in air through his teeth. “Where did you find that?”

“It fell off of Light Yagami,” L replies numbly. 

Watari gapes at him. “But that means--”

“Light Yagami is Kira,” L confirms, far from the first time he’s said the words despite how leaden they feel falling off of his tongue.

They stare down at the page, finally reunited with its missing piece.

* * *

L spends that night in his bedroom, not to sleep but to plan his next move. He sits on his bed, shoes off, idly watching the monitors for any signs of life.

The revelation that he has always been correct does not come with the tang of victory he expected. What to do next is not particularly intuitive; it isn’t as though he can simply throw Light behind bars and end the story there. L doesn’t have enough evidence, for one, and what he does have is contradictory. He would have to prove that the 13-day rule is fake.

There is also the matter of Light’s memory. It’s clear as day to him that the Note has some property that affects Light’s remembrance of it. That’s obvious enough--there’s no other explanation for the man attempting to kill him on multiple occasions and then potentially saving his life.

The thought makes L groan, raising his hand to massage the bridge of his nose. That event makes everything so complicated. 

Normally, L doesn’t care about what happens to the people he catches; it’s a fate he leaves to the justice system to decide. With Light, though, it’s at the forefront of his consciousness. What does he deserve? Is it fair, without his memories of any wrongdoing?

Since when has L cared about what’s fair, anyways? 

L scoffs, answering his own question: _Since the man took a bullet for him, obviously._

If nothing else, he wants to give Light something. A chance to be something L doesn’t expect him to be. If nothing else, L owes him that--an eye for an eye.

A test of character.

Decision made, L swings his legs over the edge of the bed and toes his loafers back on. He’s not going to get any sleep tonight.

* * *

“You want to test the notebook?”

L is sitting at his desk in Countermeasures the next evening. The bright overhead lights have been turned off, the office instead swathed in dim lighting from the wall sconces and the ethereal red glow of the machinery behind the false window.

Yagami is standing over him, looking as stern as ever. 

“Yes,” L replies, looking not at his conversation partner but instead at the offending notebook, wrapped in plastic and sitting on his desk. “I thought about negotiating with the Ministry of Justice to see if they would verify it by carrying out death sentences.”

Predictably, Soichiro’s face compresses into a frown. “I can’t approve of that. Even if they’re on death row, they’re still people. If we take their lives indiscriminately, we’re no different than Kira.”

At this, L turns his head to the older man and smiles wryly. “I thought you’d say that, so I decided not to.”

Before either one of them can continue the conversation any further, Watari appears through the double doors. 

“I have brought them,” he announces, holding the door open so that Near can pass through, holding their terrible little puppet. 

“Hello,” Near greets Soichiro, as planned. “I’m Near.”

“Near?” Soichiro asks.

“You saw what Detective Babel could do during the Yotsuba incident,” L interrupts, answering Soichiro’s vaguely-put question as he stands up from the desk to stand beside him. “They may look like a child, but Near is my right hand.”

His little sibling smiles broadly.

L leaves it to Watari to speak with Soichiro, discussing their family relation and inane details of his childhood. Let the old man reminisce. L himself sits with Near, working on a puzzle while he muses over the meeting.

It’s security, plain and simple. 

Introducing Near to Soichiro is the first step of L’s lengthy backup plan. If his test fails--really fails, catastrophically fails, Near will be the one there to pick up the pieces. L would like Soichiro to be a part of that process, partially because he is undoubtedly the most competent member of the Task Force and partially because L, despite himself, is rather fond of the man. 

Watari has finished explaining Near and L’s relationship to him when L unfolds, stepping over to the two of them with his hands clasped behind his back. He catches Soichiro’s attention.

“I suppose it’s a bit late to say this,” he says, “But no matter what happens from now on, do not avert your eyes.”

Soichiro’s brows knit together. “What are you planning?” he asks.

L can’t tell him the truth. Soichiro has a blind spot, and that is his son’s guilt. L can’t blame him; he’s the one who made it with that little false execution stunt, after all, and Light convinced even L for a time. 

He needs Soichiro to see clearly if things are going to progress according to plan--if they have any intention of surviving this.

“I’m going to finish things with Kira,” he replies.

“Finish things?” Soichiro repeats, an echolalic expression.

“Yes,” L says. “I’m going to bring an end to the Kira investigation.”

This is true, if not entirely honest. It will certainly be over, one way or another.

From behind him comes Near’s call. L turns, stepping back over to the stage and sitting at its edge, crossing his leg over his knee and taking the puzzle piece his sibling holds out to him.

Near leans forward, expression furtive. “Why did you introduce me to them?” they ask. 

L doesn’t answer.

“You won’t lose, will you?” Near presses. 

L would like to say: Of course not. L doesn’t lose; he never has and never will. Kira is a blip on the radar, and any other option is a statistical impossibility. L would never do anything that would put himself in harm’s way. He would never make a choice guided by sentimentality.

Near picks up on their brother’s hesitation. “Let’s put in the final piece together,” they decide.

Their optimism pulls a lopsided smile out of L, reluctant as it may be. He places the next piece in the puzzle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is another one that follows pretty close to canon. it diverges permanently next chapter!! also sorry for the wait, i've been busy with learning and working and whatnot.


	11. the killing moon

The call Light receives on his way to Countermeasures is an odd one. 

_Light,_ says the voice on the other end. _Are you on the way to the office? There’s been a change of plans. I need you to come to the address I’m about to send you. I’ll be inside._

The address L texts him turns out to be even odder: it’s a construction site, currently devoid of any workers but in progress nonetheless. It might be abandoned, but that doesn’t make Light feel any better as he pays the cab driver his fare and hesitantly approaches the building.

Inside is--dark. Horrendously so; the light that’s filtered in through the windows that aren't covered by heavy wood boards has an ethereal azure hue to it, staining the concrete. There are a few artificial lights plugged in here and there, few enough to barely illuminate the space while still allowing him enough clarity to press onward. 

At the end of the light is a strange sight: a couch, an unlit lamp, a little sitting area built out of the disarray. Light has no idea what this structure is supposed to be--a parking garage, maybe?-- but it’s obvious that it’s being used for something else now.

From behind a pillar comes L, hands clasped behind his back in his customary fashion. This time, he’s holding something between them, a notebook wrapped in plastic. 

“Ryuga,” Light says.

L looks back at him, gaze utterly neutral. “Sorry to call you out like this,” he says, sounding far from apologetic.

“What’s going on?” Light asks, ignoring L’s apology. 

L’s back is to him now; he’s facing the far wall. “Before we return to the countermeasures office,” he says, beginning to pace in a circle around Light, “Will you listen to my inference about this killer notebook?”

“What inference?” Light asks. He’s feeling confused, and worst of all vulnerable with L circling him like a predator. It doesn’t make any sense.

“Do you want to know?” L asks.

What kind of question is that? “The rules are all written in there, aren’t they?”

“It’s about ways of using this Death Note that are not written in here,” L elaborates, raising the plastic-wrapped book for emphasis. “Do you think this notebook can kill people even if you tear pages out?” 

How is Light supposed to know? What does he have to do with this?

“Or,” L goes on, pausing in his step for just a moment, “Do you think that such a scrap can be used to preserve one’s memory?”

Light bristles at this. “You’re not still going on about that?” he demands. “Am I--Am I still a suspect?”

L looks sharply at Light. Suddenly, as if it’s a split-second decision he’s just made, he steps over to the couch to take a seat. Crossing one leg over the other, he replies, “I spent some time here putting myself in Kira’s shoes, thinking of ways to use this notebook. And when I did, curiously, a certain person’s face sprang to mind. Although I prayed many times that it not be that person, the more I realized how the notebook could be used, in the end, I still arrived at that person.”

Light’s stomach drops like a rock into his gut--and then is replaced by a profound frustration. “Who is it?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“But I have no way of proving it,” L goes on, ignoring Light’s question. He then recites: “‘If the person using the Note fails to consecutively write names of people to be killed within 13 days of each other, then the user will die.’ This rule alone is a problem.”

A bitter taste comes to bloom on the back of Light’s tongue. “So it’s true,” he says. L somehow--despite everything--still disbelieves him. He thought he was past this, after catching Higuchi, after saving L’s life, after they promised to stay together. 

“Try not to take it personally,” L replies mildly.

“How am I not supposed to take it personally?” Light demands, fists balling. “Has nothing I’ve done meant anything to you? I thought I was in the clear! I thought this was over!”

It falls silent between the two of them as L regards Light for just a moment before turning and walking away. There’s a ladder against the back wall, which he climbs with ease before straddling the top. Reaching up towards the ceiling, he pulls down a camera.

“You’ve been recording this?” Light asks, incredulous.

L doesn’t answer, instead looking into the camera itself. “Yagami,” he says. “I wanted to talk to you to the end, but we’ll leave it at this. What comes now has no connection to the investigation. Please consider these to be actions I have taken based on my own personal judgement.” 

With those words, he rips the camera out of the wall and drops it to the floor.

Light watches him, lapsing back into the safety of confusion. “What are you planning to do?” he asks.

L looks off to the side, still perched on top of the ladder. “I know that you aren’t Kira, Light,” he says. 

“Then what is this?” Light presses.

“I know you aren’t Kira right now,” he elaborates, looking up at Light and giving him a wry smile. “Nothing you’ve done up until now makes any sense if you were. But that doesn’t mean you weren’t before.”

Light’s mouth tightens into a frown. “I wasn’t. I’ve never been Kira.”

L begins his descent from the ladder, hopping down quickly. He begins to close the gap between the two of them. “You are. There’s no point in continuing the investigation--in attempting to convince you--until you remember.”

Light takes a step backwards, but L invades his space nonetheless with a few quick footsteps.

“What--There’s nothing to remember,” Light defends doggedly. L looks up at him with big eyes.

“Yes,” he says, and he sounds like he regrets it. “There is.”

In the next moment, L is peeling the plastic wrap off of the Note; at the same time, he turns his head to the side and speaks.

“Rem,” he says, into the shadows. “I don’t want this anymore.”

Then he shoves the Note into Light’s hands.

Light is ripped into his memories again, and it’s not easier than any other time it’s happened; everything happens so quickly and it feels as though his brain is going to burst right out the back of his head and he’s going to be nothing more than a stain on the concrete reliving these experiences for the rest of eternity. 

When he next becomes aware of his surroundings, he’s kneeling on the floor gasping and the Note is out of his hands, but he remembers even still. He looks up and L is standing a few paces in front of him, looking down at him with the Note pinched between two fingers like it’s contaminated. 

L says, “Hello again.”

Light pushes himself unsteadily to his feet, hands raising. “It’s not--” he begins, instantly trying to cover his tracks, “It’s not like that. I was startled.”

The expression on L’s face slips from mildly interested to--tired, plain and simple. “I have to catch you,” he says. “Just admit that you’ve lost. You’re Kira.”

“I’m not,” Light presses.

L looks down at the note, which he flips open to an empty page. There’s a jagged tear in the corner where a piece has been ripped out--Light recognizes it as the piece from his watch. With one hand he holds it out for display; in the other, he reaches into the pocket and pulls out a scrap of paper.

“This fell from Light when his watch broke,” L informs him, matter-of-fact. “I collected it. It’s a perfect match.”

“But-- the rules of the Notebook--” Light continues, a little frantic. “I can’t have done it. I would be dead. The rule proves it, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t believe it’s real,” L presses, stepping forward. The Note dangles ever closer. “It’s awfully convenient, isn’t it? What if, before Light turned himself in, he created them himself?”

Light stands in place, frozen. L is right in front of him now.

“I have to stop you,” L repeats. “We’re friends. That’s what friends do, you know? Confess.”

Feeling choked, Light glances between the Note and L’s face, staring at him with wide eyes and an open expression. His mouth opens and closes, mind racing for a way out of this, for something to save himself--

A figure emerges from the shadow, bones creaking like a grove in a storm. Rem materializes seamlessly, like she has some control over light, which barely illuminates her in the gloom. Light’s gaze is ripped from L’s intense stare as she appears, looking him in the eye, and he knows it’s time.

“Light Yagami,” she intones, like so much dust.

He snatches the Note from L’s hands as he’s distracted by the voice, taking a step backwards. In the same moment, Rem signs L’s death sentence:

“His name is L Lawliet.”

L’s eyes blow wide, stricken with a sort of horror that Light has never seen on the other man’s face. Light gets so far as opening the Note before the other man is barreling into him, pushing him into a pile of sandbags on the floor and trying to rip the Note from his hands. 

Light kicks him in the stomach, pushing him away and scrabbling for the book while L’s clutching his hands to his belly. He doesn’t have it long before L is grabbing him again, pulling him to the ground and knocking the book a few feet away. They race for it, wrestling the whole way, and when L reaches it first and bends down to grab it Light kicks him in the gut and sends him sprawling on the ground.

Instead of diving for the notebook straightaway, Light approaches L, grabbing him by the collar. He looks up at Light, wide-eyed.

“Stay out of my way!” Light snaps, punching L with enough force that his head snaps downward, bouncing off of the concrete ground. While he lays there, dazed, Light turns for the note, picking it up.

He’s surprised by L behind him, jerking his arm to turn him around and punching him right back.

They grapple for a moment, L getting both hands on the note, before L shouts in Light’s face, “Listen to me! Justice always wins!”

This is infuriating to Light--it doesn’t, it never has, and L should see that. Since when does he care about justice, anyway? 

Light lets out a wordless shout as he knees L in the ribs, punching him one last time before kicking him against a wall of boxes. L lands in a pile of sandbags, gasping in pain and holding his heavily abused midsection. His entire body shakes.

There is a pen on the makeshift table beside the couch. Light saunters over to it, picking it up.

“You don’t have to do this,” L wheezes behind him, voice uneven. “Light.”

Light picks up the pen, weighing it in his hand before opening the notebook. “I do,” he replies. “I’m creating a perfect world.”

When he puts his hand to the page, it’s shaking. He chalks it up to adrenaline.

“Light,” L repeats weakly. “This isn’t the only way.”

“I’ve come too far to stop now,” Light replies, clenching his hand. He writes out a shaky L.

“Light,” L says, one last time. “Please.”

This makes Light look at him. L has never looked so vulnerable, lying there trembling. Light’s never heard him plead like that before--L’s probably never had to in his life.

That feeling of dread rises in Light’s chest again, unbidden. L has to die. That’s the only way forward. If he doesn’t, Kira is done for--Light is done for. Everything will be for nothing.

There are feelings in his chest he doesn’t understand. L is his partner--He wanted to stay with him. He wanted to be his friend. He wanted--

It doesn’t matter what he wanted. It’s him or L; if L doesn’t die, then he’ll have Light executed. There’s no other way around this.

Someone has to die.

He remembers when he first got the Note, when Ryuk had stopped him on that rooftop. That guilt and shame he’d felt then; he feels it again. He’s never killed someone he cared about before.

“L,” he says, looking down at the paper. His eyes are burning. “I wanted…” 

The world is getting a little unclear, smeary with the water in his eyes. “I wanted to work with you. I thought that we could stay together.”

He looks down at L again. He’s still laying there, watching Light silently. 

“There’s no way that can happen,” Light finishes finally. “But I…”

His hand stops shaking.

“I don’t want to win this way.”

There’s a papery flapping sound as the notebook hits the ground, followed shortly by the thump of Light’s knees. He buries his face in his hands: he’s lost. He’s a loser. L will arrest him now, and his best case scenario is being locked in a tiny room for the rest of his life, armed with nothing but his failure.

He doesn’t hear L rise beside him, staggering over to kneel beside Light. He does hear his name.

“Light,” L says, shaking him on the shoulder. “Light.”

Light looks up, meeting L’s gaze.

“I win,” L says. It burns Light to the core, and he very nearly lunges for the Note again, but then L continues, “The game is over. I need you to trust me now.”

Light’s hands fall to his lap. “Trust you?” he asks, confused through the haze of despair. “Why?”

L wipes his chin; blood dribbles from the corner. There must be a cut somewhere in his hair, too, since blood is streaking down his temple. “Because it’s the only way we’re going to solve this.”

Light still doesn’t understand, but he’s pulled from his confusion by L reaching out and wiping his thumb across Light’s cheek. It seems like he’s wiping Light’s face, which is a little mortifying, but then his hand stays there. He probably feels Light’s face getting warmer. There’s a look in L’s eyes that Light has never seen before.

“Thank you,” L says, and then the moment is over and he’s reaching down to pick up the book, snapping it shut with an air of finality. Despite the fact that he’s wobbling on his feet, he holds out a hand to Light. After a moment, Light accepts it.

L says, “They’ll be here any minute, if my estimation is correct.”

“The task force?” Light asks.

L nods. “Yes. Try and look presentable.”

Light has no idea how that could be possible, given that he’s a mess and L looks like he got mugged on the way here, but he wipes his face on his sleeve. 

As if on cue, the task force comes rounding the corner less than a minute later. L limps over as they approach, barely able to walk--he must have twisted his ankle.

“What is going on?” Soichiro demands, leading the group.

L slips the notebook behind his back, casual. “I was wrong,” he announces to the world. “I made a mistake. I apologize for all of you wasting your time like this. I did tell you that it had nothing to do with the investigation.”

Matsuda pipes up. “You look terrible.”

“Thank you, Matsuda,” L replies. “What happened is that Light defended himself, perfectly justifiably. I threatened him with the Note and he refused to write my name. He is, as we already knew, perfectly innocent.”

Light stands there, numbly. Why is L lying to them? Is he defending him? What’s going on?

Himura, of all people, looks at Light with a critical eye. “Is that true?” she asks.

He forgets to answer for a few moments. “I--” L looks back at him, expression focused. “Um, yeah.”

“There you have it,” L says. He coughs slightly, pressing a hand to his ribs. “Now, if we could return to Countermeasures, I would appreciate the opportunity to sit down.”

And so, with seemingly no questions asked, they return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last chapter that more or less follows drama canon! a peek behind the curtain: when i originally conceived this AU in 2017, it diverged at this point and no sooner, and if I had written it at that point then this would have been chapter one. i could never justify Light not killing L, though, so all of act 1 was devised in 2019 to lengthen L and Light's time together and explain this sole decision. the more you know!


	12. impossible soul

L doesn’t get another moment alone with Light for a while.

When he gets back to Countermeasures, nursing a twisted ankle and a mouth full of blood and a ribcage full of pain, Watari flutters around him like an old biddy, fussing with his bloody clothes. He knows better than to try and get L to the doctor, but he’s materialized an ice pack out of somewhere and spends upwards of ten minutes trying to convince L to elevate his foot while the rest of the task force looks on in uncomfortable silence.

L refuses, not out of spite but because if he doesn’t take a shower right now and wash the blood and dust and whatever other accumulated contaminates he was wrestling in off of himself he’ll probably bite Watari’s head off.

Leaving the task force--and, most likely, a very mystified Light--he disappears up the spiral staircase and into his bedroom. Immediately, he strips out of his bloodstained clothing and steps into his adjoining bathroom.

Looking in the mirror, he sizes himself up. There’s blood on his face, from his hairline and his mouth--the latter is from him biting his cheek hard enough to draw blood. He also has an unfortunate redness around his aching ribs, which will doubtlessly darken to an ugly blue-black hue within the next few days. Lovely.

He considers taking a bath; it’s a luxury he hasn’t had for a few weeks, despite the fact that he has a small table that overhangs the bathtub so that he can work while he soaks. It would be a decent time sink, except he hadn’t brought his laptop and Watari will probably be knocking down his door with that ice pack if he takes more than ten minutes. 

A quick shower it is, then. It works to get off the dirt and the blood, so he’s not complaining, even if relaxing for a little while would be nice on his muscles.

After he dries off, as he’s pulling on his robe, he sees a figure in the mirror as it passes through the wall.

“Rem,” he says, rubbing his towel in his hair. “You know you don’t need to follow me around anymore. I can hardly assume it’s out of attachment, seeing as though you tried to have me killed a little while ago.”

A heavy huff of air rushes out of Rem’s nostrils, like an angry bull. “You should be dead.”

“I didn’t know that my survival was such a bother for you,” he replies, still not bothering to turn to look at her but instead speaking to the mirror. “My apologies for whatever it is I did to incur your ire.”

Rem approaches, towering over him even despite her crooked posture. If she was human, he would probably feel warmth radiating off of her body. As it is, there’s a slight chill in the air.

“You didn’t arrest Light Yagami,” she says.

“Well spotted,” L replies dryly.

She reaches up with a great, groaning arm and removes his towel from his head, rudely. He turns to look at her with a sour expression.

“Why not?” she demands in her rasping boom of a voice. “You’re his enemy.”

L sniffs, running his hand through his hair. It’s dry enough. “I would consider us friends, actually.”

The Shinigami bars his way out of the bathroom, which is annoying. This seems intentional.

“Will the others be absolved?”

“Others?” L asks, moving his hand down to chew on his thumbnail. “Death Note users?”

The Shinigami stares down at him. That would be a yes.

“Who said that I was absolving Light?” he counters, instead of answering. “We haven’t had time to properly speak.”

“If you planned on arresting him, you would have,” she points out. “Will the others receive the same courtesy?”

L steps towards the sink, putting a little distance between himself and Rem. He examines his face while still eyeing her in his peripheral vision. “You’re rather invested in this. Would there be someone in particular that you’re so worried about, if not Light?” 

Her nostrils flare, lip curling over fang. Bingo.

“I see. It would help me to answer your question if I knew who it was,” he goes on blithely. Feigning disinterest, he reaches into the drawer under the sink and pulls out an eyeliner stick, which he uncaps and begins layering under his eye. A small pleasure.

Rem is staring at him, her single eye narrowed. “I am not a fool,” she growls.

“I never suggested that you were,” L replies. 

“Even if I tell you, it is not proof. You will gain nothing.”

“No,” L agrees, leaning back to look at his handiwork. “That’s true. But you might.”

They settle into a short silence as the Shinigami seems to digest this. Eventually, she shakes herself, a very inhuman movement. 

“Fine,” she says. “Misa. Are you going to arrest her?”

L could have guessed. “It depends. I take it that it would go poorly for me?”

“If she dies,” Rem rumbles, “It would.”

L places his eyeliner stick on the bathroom counter, turning to finally look Rem head-on. “I can’t simply let her go, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

Rem’s features are cold. “She has no memory of being Kira.”

He inclines his head towards her. “That helps. So does the fact that I prefer not to die.”

She stares at him in that owlish manner of hers. He wonders if this is how people feel around him.

Folding his hands behind his back, he says, “How about this, Rem. Arresting Amane at this stage would be counter-intuitive to what I have planned. I’ll allow her to go free as long as she doesn’t have any memories of being Kira. In exchange, I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t go around sharing my name with anyone else.”

Once more, she blinks at him wordlessly.

Sighing, L holds out a hand. “It’ll be a deal. I just need your word.”

She stares at his hand like she’s never seen one before, but after a few moments she raises her arm, bending it grotesquely in order to take L’s hand in her massive one. It practically engulfs his arm.

“Fine,” she says. “She lives. You live.”

This works for him.

* * *

When he returns to the Countermeasures office, the room is silent. He limps his way to his desk, raising his leg and placing it on the tabletop. His ankle is noticeably swelling by this point.

He barely has time to register that fact before Watari is on him, ice pack and a small towel in hand. Wrapping the ice in the cloth, he presses it to L’s ankle. 

“You should be more careful,” Watari chides.

L allows him to work. “It could have been worse,” he murmurs.

Watari frowns at that. He doesn’t bother chiding any further, merely tells L to keep the ice on his ankle for the time being. L doesn’t tell him that the act of keeping his legs on the table, such an ordinary action for him, is like lighting a flame in his ribcage; this doesn’t stop Watari from approaching him with a compression bandage at the first opportunity and wrapping his ankle up, despite L’s objections of it limiting his movement.

It’s a slow day. There’s a palpable tension in the air; it seems like no one knows what to say, after L’s grand display and subsequent fight. Little do they know.

They seem to understand well enough that they’re unwanted. It’s early in the evening when the task force starts to pack up, the members filtering out one after another. Himura is one of the last to leave; she casts a glare Light’s way before she goes. That could be a problem later.

Soichiro is the last to go. He stands, organizes his things, pauses.

“Light,” he eventually asks. “Do you need a ride home tonight?”

Light looks at his father, and then to L. They make eye contact for a few moments.

“No,” Light decides. “I don’t. Thank you.”

So his father goes. It leaves the two of them alone in Countermeasures; L has sent Watari off to get the bloodstains out of his clothes.

Light is out of his chair almost immediately, making a beeline for L. Before he even gets to him, L is pushing himself out of his seat. The bandage around his ankle helps support the joint as he practically hops the few steps to the platform.

He sits on the edge just as Light closes the gap between the two of them, standing just a few paces away.

“So?” Light asks. “What the hell?”

L delicately crosses one leg over the other. “Come sit.”

Light looks at him, incredulous. “I can’t sit. I need you to tell me why you haven’t told anyone--why you haven’t arrested me.”

“I will,” L promises him. “If Light sits.”

Hands clenching for a moment, Light looks like he might explode; but then he sighs and the harsh line of his shoulders relaxes somewhat. He takes a seat on the platform, about an arm’s length away from L.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Light goes on unbidden. “Why would you--Why wouldn’t you--I’m your enemy.”

“Are you?” L asks quizzically. 

Light frowns at L. “I’m Kira.”

“Are those one in the same?” L asks. 

“Yes!” Light snaps. “You said you want to stop me, but you didn’t arrest me. What does that mean?”

L sighs, turning to face him more fully. “Light,” he begins, “You do remember when I had your father pretend to execute you?”

Light winces at the memory. “How could I forget that?” he demands.

“It was a test,” L continues, ignoring Light’s tone. “As you well know. Today was the same.”

Light’s brows furrow. “It was a test. What, to see if I was Kira? So I failed?”

L shakes his head. “I already knew you were Kira, Light.”

He seems to have lost Light. “So what was it, then?” he presses.

Uncrossing his legs, L leans towards Light slightly. “I knew that you were Kira. What I didn’t know is if you were the same person you were before you regained your memories. If you had lost your humanity. I didn’t want to know if you were Kira, Light, I wanted to know if you were _you._ ”

Light looks taken aback by this, eyes wide. “If I was still me?”

L nods in confirmation. “Yes. And you passed, Light.”

This makes Light’s brows knit together again; he’s a very expressive man. He runs his hand through his hair, a nervous habit.

“Okay,” he says. “So I passed. What does that mean?”

This will be the difficult part. “I want you to stop being Kira.”

Light’s mouth falls open. Emotions cross his face: anger, frustration, resignation.

“I can’t do that, L,” he says. “I can’t do nothing.”

“I didn’t say do nothing,” L is quick to appease, raising both hands, palms open.

Expression closing off, Light crosses his arms over his chest. “Then what?”

L raises a finger. “Light can either insist on continuing his actions as Kira, at which point I will be forced to incarcerate him and leave his fate up to the whims of the Japanese government, who will likely execute him without any sort of legal counsel. Or,” he continues, raising his second finger, “Light can do exactly what he was going to do before and help me catch the new Kira, at which point he will work with me indefinitely. For as long as he wishes.”

Light’s fists are clenched against his arms. “This doesn’t seem like a good deal for me.”

“Light was perfectly willing before,” L points out. He leans forward even farther, invading Light’s personal space; it startles Light, whose eyes widen in surprise. “It’s not like joining the police, Light. I find them ineffectual at times as well, even the best of them. You can still do what you’re doing--do it better, even, with my help. With my resources and your brain, you can do much the same work that you were doing with the Note. People I catch don’t walk free, Light. We can do much more together.”

Light’s eyes are still wide when L’s finished speaking. He stammers out, “L?”

L reaches forward, grabbing Light by the wrist. It makes Light jump visibly, but L squeezes him through the fabric. “Light,” he replies, furtive. His eyes are wide, too, searching Light’s face. Light shrinks under the intensity of it. “The investigation is over; I don’t want your life to go with it. I want you to stay with me. Don’t you want the same?”

The other man gapes, mouth opening and closing a few times in short succession. Something like determination crosses his face.

“I do,” Light confirms, nodding his head once.

L’s grip tightens on Light’s arm and he pulls him closer, until they’re so close that L can feel Light’s breath on his face. 

“Then stay with me,” he whispers. 

Light swallows once, hard.

“Okay.”

Bursting overfull with feeling, L suddenly beams at Light, canines flashing. He lets out a trill of a laugh, a giddy little thing, and his vice grip on Light’s wrist is released; replaced with both hands clasping Light’s. He feels like a joyful child and the cat that caught the canary all at once; he’s overcome with the urge to shake his hands out in glee. He just squeezes Light’s, whose face has taken on a light pink hue.

“Thank you, Light,” he says, his smile leaking into his voice. “I know I’ve been insincere in the past, but I want you to know you truly are my friend.”

“You too,” Light manages breathlessly. 

L realizes the dwindling space between the two of them; with little warning, he drops Light’s hands and scoots back, letting the other man have his personal space back. Despite the twinge in his ankle and in his ribs, he pushes himself to his feet, needing to pace to get out some of his excited energy.

Light seems a little more comfortable with the extra space, adjusting his collar anxiously. “What now?” he asks, watching L’s uneven pacing. “What do we do?”

“Now,” L says, crossing his hands behind his back and squeezing tight, “We prove to the world that you’re not Kira.”

**END OF ACT 1**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the end of act 1! i wanted to get it all out, since i've had it typed up, but fair warning that i just started a new semester so i'm super busy and i probably won't start posting act 2 until i've written at least a few chapters of it, so that everything is cohesive. it might take a while for me to post again, but i definitely will be back. 
> 
> until then you can follow my DN tumblr @51161121 !!! i answer asks and post updates about the fic sometimes.


	13. an interlude

**INTERLUDE**

_Warden Kiyoshi ‐ Have him stand on the trapdoor._

_Officer Matsumura - He’s in place._

_Kiyoshi - Good. Now, the noose._

_Matsumura - The noose is in place._

_Corrections Secretary Mizuno ‐ We have contacted the Prime Minister of Japan, the President of the Tokyo High Court, and the Minister of Justice’s office. No appeals are pending, and no motions have been filed to set aside the warrant of death sentence and execution in the matter of Japan vs. Mikami Teru. Therefore, you may proceed to carry out the order of the court._

_Kiyoshi ‐ Mikami Teru, you have been convicted of the crimes of domestic terrorism and the first degree murders of countless citizens, as well as First Division Superintendent, Ogiso Takeshi. You have been sentenced to death by hanging for this crime. This is the time and place for the execution of that sentence. Do you have any last words? Now is that time._

_Inmate Mikami ‐ God smiles upon me. I am not afraid._

_Kiyoshi ‐ Officers, press the buttons._

_Kiyoshi - The body has fallen. Doctor, please descend and monitor the prisoner’s heartbeat._

_Doctor - (Pause) The time of pronouncement is 20:44._


	14. the rewards of being loved

**ACT 2:**

_the rewards of being loved_

**CHAPTER 13**

_I kneel into a dream where I_   
_am good & loved. I am_   
_good. I am loved. My hands have made_   
_some good mistakes. They can always_   
_make better ones._

– Natalie Wee, “Least of All,” _Our Bodies & Other Fine Machines_

* * *

They spend the rest of the night planning.

Light watches with an increasing sense of dizziness as L paces in short, frenetic circles in front of where he’s sitting. He’s talking a mile a minute, which is rare for a man who is usually so cryptic and cagey, but Light is distracted by the fact that every other step L dips heavily as he avoids putting weight on his foot before continuing to stomp on, an action that makes Light wince every single time; an uncomfortable guilt begins to rise in his gut until he gets sick of it and stands to grab L by the upper arms and pin him in place.

This succeeds in not only stopping L’s feet but his tongue. L is cut off mid sentence, blinking at Light with wide eyes.

“Slow down,” Light tells him, not a request. “And stop pacing. You’re hurting yourself.”

“I’m fine, and this helps me to think,” L insists, still staring, but he doesn’t argue as Light literally steers him to his desk to sit at his chair.

“Well, you’re making it impossible for me. I’m too distracted watching you,” Light sighs. He doesn’t sit himself, merely crosses his arms and leans his hip against the desk. “Okay. Slower this time. You want to do what?”

Unable to get out the buildup of energy he’s apparently amassed, L’s uninjured foot taps furiously against the ground, bouncing his entire leg up and down. It too is immensely distracting, but it doesn’t seem to be injuring L any further, so Light resolutely stares at L’s face instead.

L doesn’t seem perturbed to be repeating himself; what he was saying before was barely coherent, just a stream of consciousness that jumped between then and now and soon. His floodlight eyes bore into Light and he says, concise as anything, “I need you to tell me who the current Kira is.”

This makes an instinctual part of Light bristle, the part that holds these secrets close to his chest and knows that any misstep spells destruction. For just a moment, a treacherous part of his mind says: what if this is a ploy? What if he just wants all of the information he can get?

Light chooses to swallow this concern for the time being. He shakes his head. “I don’t know who it is.”

Surprise crosses L’s features. “You don’t? ”

“No, I don’t,” Light snaps. “It was—I was working on it. After I took care of, um…”

“Me?” L asks archly. 

Light rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah.”

L lets out a huffing noise that might be amusement, which seems a little out of place as he looks up at Light. Light scowls back.

“Well, now that that business is out of the way, we can focus on this. You spoke to the man I found for you, yes?”

Light heaves a sigh. “Yeah, but—he got away. There were business cards in his apartment, but there were so many I didn’t know which of them if any were responsible for hiring him.”

This makes L perk up immensely. “I didn’t hear about the business cards. I put Babel on meeting with him after you went to visit with Matsuda, and they managed to narrow it down to a public prosecutor.”

“You couldn’t get a name from Yudagawa?” Light asks, raising an eyebrow.

L is shaking his head before Light even finishes. “It appears that the new Kira was prepared. Yudagawa died of a heart attack during the interrogation.”

“That’s convenient,” Light mutters, leaning more fully against the desk now. “But—you said a public prosecutor?”

A nod. “Yes.”

A memory stirs unbidden from where it had been buried in the back of Light’s mind, slow to be dredged up. “Actually, I completely forgot about this, it was months ago, but during the investigation Misa was harassed by a public prosecutor.”

Surprise lights up L's features. "Oh? How do you know it was a prosecutor?"

“I think he’d worked with Misa before,” Light muses. “He was her prosecutor on the case against her parents’ murderer.”

L nods. His foot, which had settled its merciless beating of the floors momentarily, resumes its drumlike beat. He seems excited. “So they had a history? Why was he harassing her?”

“It was…” Light starts, and then it hits him all at once, the idiot he is, letting this memory slip through the cracks between the months between then and now. If he’s generous, he can chalk it up to the fact that he’s had his memories given to him and erased several times in the interim. His tone is lame as he continues, “Oh. He was asking if she knew Kira.”

If Light wasn’t standing in front of L and body blocking him from raising from his seat, Light gets the distinct impression that L would be jumping up and resuming his pacing right about now. L’s eyes are glittering even as he gives Light a wry look.

“That seems like what we’re looking for,” he says mirthfully. “I knew Light knew who it was.”

“Try not to be so smug for once. Should I call Misa and ask what his name is?”

That idea makes L’s expression visibly sour, but he bobs his head in a nod and turns to his computer. “All right. You do that, and I’ll see about getting our hands on those business cards.”

Light pulls his phone out of his pocket to call Misa. It hardly rings twice before she picks up, and he puts her on speaker halfway through her greeting.

“—Light!” she trills. “Misa hasn’t heard from you in days! We’re at rehearsal right now, but you know she can pretend to come down with something if you want to go on a date tonight!”

While L makes a face like he’s becoming rapidly seasick, Light quickly adjusts the conversation onto the right course. “No, Misa—We’re working on the Second Kira right now, remember? I don’t have time at the moment.”

There’s clear disappointment in Misa’s voice, but she takes it in stride. “Oh, okay. But after you catch him, we can go on plenty of dates, right? You promised Misa. No more L and no more dumb detective work.”

Light nearly cringes as, in his peripheral vision, he sees L’s patchy eyebrows raise until they’ve disappeared fully under his bangs. Right. He’d made that promise, hadn’t he? Well, now isn’t the time for that messy conversation, so he heaves a short sigh and makes a note to explain to her later that he’d changed his mind.

“Right,” he says. “Plenty of dates. Until then, though, I want to be sure it’s safe for us. Do you remember that public prosecutor that harassed you, back when you were part of the investigation?”

Misa’s voice rises into a high and angry whine. “Ugh, yes! It was so scary! He was going on and on about Misa knowing Kira, like, I wish! What about him?”

“Who was he?” Light presses on. “What was his name?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Misa’s voice rings through the phone. “Mikami Teru.”

* * *

It takes some time for Light to finally get Misa to hang up, and he suspects in the end that he was only successful because of the efforts of her bandmates to bring her back to rehearsal and not through his own work. Eventually, though, he’s able to pocket his phone with a sigh.

L has long since turned his attention to his laptop, and he’s leaning in so close to his screen that it surely must be hurting his eyes. Light can imagine that he’s going to need glasses someday, if he keeps that up. 

“If Light is done chatting with his girlfriend,” L remarks, his tone dry as straw, “I would like to proceed.”

Light bristles somewhat at the tone. “I wasn’t chatting with her.”

L looks at Light, unblinking. “Light started dating her because she’s the Second Kira, did he not? Is he really planning on staying with her, if she doesn’t have her memories?”

“How is that any of your business?” Light demands, taken off-guard by the sudden antagonism. “I like her. I’ve been going to see her with Kamoda for years. Why am I explaining myself to you? You already know I’m Kira, what’s the point of all of the interrogation?”

Expression flattening, L turns back to his monitor. “Your friend Kamoda is a big fan of Amane’s work. Did you like her before you were friends with him?”

“What does this have to do with ‘proving I’m not Kira?’” Light presses testily. 

L lapses into silence as he types something; maybe an e-mail. “Nothing, Light is correct. My apologies. Back on topic—we’ve spent the last several months looking for the Second Kira. I intend on finally catching him.”

Light’s eyebrows furrow. “But he isn’t the Second Kira.”

“I know that, and Light knows that. Who doesn’t know that is the rest of the task force, or virtually anyone that matters. Seeing as though Amane didn’t have the chance to regain her memories, there is nothing stopping us from letting them believe he’s the second and final Kira,” L explains patiently.

Light crosses his arms over his chest. “Until we actually catch him and he tells everyone who the real Second Kira is.”

L turns to Light and flashes a smile at him, all traces of his brief moodiness gone. It’s one of his devious, crooked smiles. “Light has very little faith in me. Just wait until tomorrow; I’ll call you in once I have the business card.”

“You’re dismissing me?” Light asks.

“For the night,” L clarifies. “I have to have a discussion with someone about our encounter this morning. Also, I’d like to take a painkiller and maybe a warm bath,” he adds sheepishly.

Shame burns fleetingly in Light’s gut, which, again, makes no sense—L started the altercation earlier. “Right. Okay. You’re going to explain everything tomorrow?”

“Of course. I’ll see you then,” L replies, turning back to his screen.

* * *

Light arrives home after a short walk preceding a twenty minute train ride. Sayu’s voice calls for him from the living room as he takes his shoes off at the door, and he’s greeted with the smell of burnt food as he straightens up and steps deeper into the house. His sister greets him with a pair of stirring chopsticks in hand, and Light can see his father sitting at the kitchen table sipping a beer.

“Light, I didn’t know you were coming home!” Sayu exclaims, jabbing the chopsticks at him. “I made dinner and everything. You need to call ahead! Your cooking is much better than mine.”

Scoffing, Light replies, “It’s good that you cooked for yourself. I should have you making all of the meals from now on.”

“No _-o_ ,” Sayu whines. “Light, come on…”

Light chuckles quietly, eyes crinkling, as he walks past Sayu. He intends to go up to his room, but Soichiro’s voice stops him.

“Light,” he says. “Come sit with us.”

Stopping cold, Light looks between the stairwell up to his room and his father; with a sigh, he changes direction back into the dining area. After a moment of hesitation, he sits across from his father at the table.

“Lucky for you,” Sayu peeps up, “I made extra. And I only ruined a little bit, so there’s still enough for all three of us.”

“Thank you, Sayu,” Light sighs. 

He watches as his father takes a drink, finishing off the glass that was nearly empty when Light arrived. Soichiro sets it back down gently onto the stained coaster.

“I didn’t expect you to come home tonight,” Soichiro says.

Light wants to say: _That’s a funny change of pace,_ or, _You’re one to talk,_ or, _How does it feel?,_ or even, _We waited for you for years._ None of that would be appropriate, so he says, “Sorry. I thought it might be nice to sleep in my own bed tonight.”

“I understand that,” his father agrees sympathetically. “It can be difficult to juggle your home life with work. You’ll find out more about that once you’ve graduated.”

His father is attempting to be kind, but it rankles immediately. He’s been working for years, not for passion or duty like his father or L but to pay for college and bills and food on the table, and all of that on top of college and chores and raising Sayu. The implication that he doesn’t know about how difficult it can be makes him set his jaw in irritation.

“Right,” he agrees, and that’s all.

“Speaking of college,” Soichiro goes on, “The spring semester doesn’t start until April, so I feel that those six months is enough time before you go back to school. If we haven’t closed it by then, I would prefer it if you were off the case.”

This makes Light’s stomach drop. Not the idea that he might leave the case incomplete—he knows more about it than anyone else, what with him being the perpetrator and all—but that he has to explain to his father that he plans on working with L.

Well, today he thought that L was going to tell his father conclusively that he’s Kira, so he supposes that by comparison this is a smaller band-aid to rip off.

He takes a deep breath. “Actually,” he begins. “I wasn’t planning on going back to college.”

In the doorway, Sayu drops a plate.

His father blinks, once, before his face settles into a stern mask of disapproval.

“Oops!” Sayu gasps, looking down at the mess of stir-fry noodle and plate shards. “Oh, my bad, I’m so sorry, but—” She hurriedly puts both surviving plates on the edge of the table. “—Are you seriously not going back to school? You’re always telling me how important it is that I get good grades so I can go to college and get a good job.”

Light shifts in his seat. “Yes, that’s still true, but—I, um, got a job offer.”

His sister’s expression turns prying. “Oh? What is it? It must be good, if you’re willing to drop out for it. Are you going to work for some big company? Are they going to train you?”

“No,” Light admits. “It’s, ah— I’m going to work for L.” 

“ _That_ L?” Sayu asks, incredulous, but she’s interrupted from pestering Light by his father.

“Sayu, clean that up,” he says, stoically indicating the mess on the floor. After she lets out a little groan and leaves to get the broom, he turns back to Light. 

“Light,” he says. “I know you want to pursue this investigation, but it’s not worth dropping out of college for, even if he offered to pay you for your time.”

Light shakes his head. “It’s not like that. It’s not just this investigation. He wants me to come work with him on other things.”

“Without any formal training?” Soichiro points out.

“L told me he never went to college,” Light offers in return. “He didn’t seem to mind.”

Soichiro shakes his head with a sigh, raising a hand to massage the bridge of his nose under his glasses. His mask of disapproval has been replaced by faint exhaustion.

“I don’t even understand why either of you would want to work with each other after this morning,” he sighs.

Light’s shoulders stiffen defensively. “That was complicated,” he says. “It was a misunderstanding. There’s no hard feelings.”

“Be that as it may, I worry about you putting your future in the hands of someone so…” His father trails off, seemingly unsure about what adjective he wanted to use to describe L, who is so hard to pin down in only a few words. “...Uncontrolled,” he finally finishes.

“It’s not about him,” Light argues. “Even if he didn’t listen to what anyone says—which isn’t true—this is an opportunity for me to make a difference. You should know why that’s important. If I have the power to help L, to help the police, then I should do so.”

It’s quiet for a few moments, and Light thinks that Soichiro is going to argue the point, but all he does is sigh with a little shake of his head.

“I suppose I’m not going to change your mind, and I can’t argue with that. Think about the decision,” he urges. “Don’t make it impulsively. You have six months.” 

“I’m not,” Light replies as his sister returns with the broom and sets about sweeping up the mess. At the same time, he stands. “I’m not hungry. You two can eat, I’ll make something for myself later if I need to.”

“Wait, but you have to tell me about your new job,” Sayu chirps, but Light has already turned and started up the stairs. She calls after him, “I’ll come visit after dinner!” 

His bedroom is empty. He wonders where Rem is; probably nearby and out of sight, like Ryuk tended to do when Light wasn’t doing anything more interesting than working or doing homework or spending long hours writing names. He wonders what L is doing, and finally allows himself to think about the feeling that burned in his belly when L’s face had hung inches from his own, lit up bright with joy, hands clutching Light’s. 

Light collapses in his bed and sleeps fitfully.


	15. the mother we share

“What happened?” Near demands the moment L walks through the doorway. Their little hands are pressed into fists and jammed against their hips, and an uncharacteristic look of anger flashes across their face. “You have this sudden broadcast, and you don’t tell me anything. I thought you were going to come back and we were going to arrest him!”

“He’s not Kira,” L replies doggedly, limping over to the leather couch and sitting down on it. His ankle smarts after walking all the way up here, even with Watari’s bandage-and-ice regimen. 

“Bullshit,” his sibling replies, language they no doubt picked up from Mello. 

“Where is your brother?” L asks, looking around.

Near shakes their head. “We don’t share the suite. He’s next door.” 

That’s probably for the best; if Near is angry, Mello is no doubt livid. L heaves a sigh. “Regarding Light, I determined that he’s not a threat to anyone. That is my final assessment.”

His sibling doesn’t like this answer; their hands unclench, flapping furiously in the air. “You—You—,” they stammer. “He beat you up!”

“I threatened to write his name in the Note,” L replies dismissively, as if all that happened was pure self-defense. “Light can’t read minds. I’m a very good actor.”

This doesn’t mollify his sibling in the slightest. “Don’t you even care?” they demand. “What about the case? You can’t just not solve it.”

L runs his hand through his hair with a huff. “I’m going to solve it. Arresting Light isn’t the solution. We still have to catch the current Kira, after all.”

Near tucks their arms close to their chest, shoulders hunching and chin tucking downwards. They frown. Much more quietly, they repeat, “He beat you up.”

This makes L come to attention, sitting forward. “Near,” he says, “Stay with me here,” but it’s futile; Near’s expression has already gotten distant. L heaves a sigh, pushing himself upright. He’s ordinarily not the one dealing with this, not anymore, so he puts his hand on Near’s upper back, receiving a slight wince in response, and shepherds his sibling to the adjacent suite.

His brother’s suite is immediately recognizable from the stack of journals on the dining table. L isn’t surprised in the slightest that Mello chose to bring them from the House, even if he’s only writing in one or two at the moment. His siblings are particular like that.

Mello himself comes storming out of the bedroom a moment later, and when he sees that his visitor is L he jams a finger in his direction. L was apparently correct about Mello being livid.

“You stupid fuck,” Mello manages, but L cuts in.

“Mello,” he says, giving a meaningful glance to Near, who is cringing in response to Mello’s brief shout.

Mello squints at Near for a moment before raising a hand and brushing his blonde bangs out of his face. “Look at what you did,” Mello accuses, but his tone is much quieter than before. 

L’s brother steps over to Near, taking over gently steering them to the couch. Near hates sitting on furniture, finds it far more comfortable to sit on the floor, so Mello tosses a pillow on the ground and sets Near down beside it.

“Here,” Mello says, shoving the pillow into Near’s hands. He then rubs the slightly coarse texture of the thick threads under a hand. “Feel that.”

Near obliges, gingerly rubbing their hands over the rough throw pillow. While they do that, Mello straightens up and breaks into a determined lope right out of the room, leaving L with Near, who is still examining the texture of the pillow.

With a sigh, L lowers himself onto the couch. It’s identical to the one next door.

Mello returns after a few moments with a blanket in tow. It hangs heavily over his arm, weighted by however many thick beads sewn into the fabric. Taking the blanket and draping it across their lap, Mello then drops cross-legged on the floor in front of them.

“How is that?” Mello asks. 

Near fidgets with the pillow for a few moments and then signs back, _Better._

“Has this been happening more frequently again?” L asks from the couch, receiving a nod from Near in response.

“Since we went to interrogate that bullshit detective-for-hire,” Mello grumbles. “He hit Near.”

This makes a lot of sense. Near has always been very sensitive to violence. It’s interesting to L, since their home life was never violent, not like Mello’s. But then again, Near has always been very empathetic in a way L never was. They were always similar, but never the same.

L leans forward to reach out and brush the palm of his hand against Near’s bangs, ruffling them fondly. “I am fine, Near,” he says. “Genuinely. I’m actually very happy. You don’t need to worry on my behalf.”

Near’s fingers knot together over the pillow for a moment before they remember to respond. _I was afraid you would lose._

“But I didn’t,” L reminds. “And I have a lead on the current Kira. We have a name.”

Mello looks up at L. “Yeah, we’ve had a name for ages, but you’re telling us we’re not arresting him now since you decided you like him.”

L flashes Mello an annoyed look. “How I feel about Light has nothing to do with whether or not he’s dangerous. Which he isn’t. But you yourself helped acquire this new name. It’s Amane’s prosecutor, Mikami Teru.”

Near flaps a hand in the air faintly. _We know it’s a prosecutor._

“Exactly,” L confirms. “He had been harassing her during the case. It’s a safe bet. I’m going to have him brought in tomorrow, after I have Lidner examine Yudagawa’s house for something.”

_What is Halle getting?_

“A business card. Apparently, Yudagawa had a lot of contacts. Having this prosecutor’s name among them would be enough to justify bringing him in,” L explains.

“I remember those,” Mello replies. He scratches his cheek. “Probably should have checked that out myself.”

L gives him a reproachful look. “It’s for the best that you didn’t.” He turns his attention back to Near. “I’m going to need your assistance with something after we’ve interrogated Mikami. Will you be up for it?”

Near nods. _I will be. What is it?_

“I’ll know more after the interrogation,” L replies vaguely. “But I have a feeling I’ll need your technological expertise.”

His sibling’s pale brows furrow together. _That sounds suspicious._

L smiles lopsidedly. “That’s why I’m asking you.”

“All right,” Mello says. His tone is much more muted than it was before, but he jams his fists under his armpits in the customary way he does when he’s irritated. “That’s just great. But seriously. What the fuck is the deal with Yagami?”

Near’s stare joins their brother’s, openly inquisitive. L heaves a sigh under the weight of their dual gazes. There’s no point in lying to them; even if he wanted to, the truth would come out when he had Near watch Mikami’s interrogation. 

“The Shinigami acted behind my back,” L informs them gravely. “She told Light my name, and he had the opportunity to kill me, an opportunity that he did not take. It is my intention to offer him the same courtesy.”

His siblings react in tandem, one aloud and one in a flurry of hand signs. 

Mello says, “I told you that thing is dangerous—”

Near says, _Light knows your name?_

L has to put his hands up defensively, shaking his head. “There’s no point in arguing about it now. What’s done is done, and the only thing that is important for the two of you to understand is that nothing has changed. Light is still going to work with me, and after we arrest Mikami, the Kira killings will end.”

The two of them stare at him, Mello in mute incredulity and Near with open concern marking their face. They end up speaking up first for once, asking the question that L has been asking himself for days.

_Are you sure about this?_

“Yes,” L says, and he means it. “This is what I want to do.”

And that’s that.

* * *

A few hours later he’s alone in the Countermeasures office. Watari has gone to bed for the night by now, leaving him in the dark and the gloom, but he’s not sulking. He’s waiting, finger practically hovering impatiently over the button to call Chief Superintendent Goda and have a team flood Mikami’s home looking for any evidence of wrongdoing—

But they need the card for a warrant. There’s only so much L can do without Goda’s permission, and Goda was near to ending the case altogether in the Second Kira’s absence. He needs the business card because Misa’s testimony and his sibling’s interrogation isn’t enough; Japan doesn’t favor hearsay evidence, let alone hearsay evidence obtained through violence.

Even if it’s from him.

His laptop rings and L connects within the second, bluetooth headset already in his ear. He’s speaking immediately once the line clicks.

“Did you get it?”

Himura’s voice rings out a moment later.

“L,” she says. “I have it. You were right.”

L leans forward, anticipation lighting up his face. “Send the pictures to me and bring it back,” he says. “I’ll forward it to the Chief Superintendent.”

There’s a brief silence on the other end, and then: “I want to be there when you arrest him.”

L rubs at his jaw with his hand. His ring is cool against his skin. “I’m sending out a team as soon as possible. You’ll probably still be on your way here.”

“The last time you were nearly shot,” she argues. “And Higuchi was killed through carelessness. I can do better.”

“I’m not coming this time, and the Japanese police are—” He wants to say _perfectly capable_ , but Himura does have a point. L heaves a sigh. “Fine. Get here as fast as possible, you’ll be going right back out.”

Gratitude fills Himura’s voice as she replies, “Thank you. I’ll bring him in.”

She hangs up on L, which is an interesting change of pace for him. He lets out a held breath and massages the bridge of his nose. Hopefully, once this case is over, she’ll lose the belief that she owes him her life. She’s a useful asset to him, and he’s fond of her, but it wouldn’t be good for anyone if she threw herself into a dangerous situation and died.

He shakes his head as his email lights up. It’s from Himura; the new images from the apartment. There are more important things to be thinking about; he compiles them with the images of the apartment that had been taken the other day, when the police “discovered” Yudagawa’s dead body and the narrative L had spun to cover up his sibling’s involvement before Yudagawa had died of a heart attack. 

Then he forwards the folder to Goda and gives him a call. 

It’s a short call. L is persuasive even at the worst of times, and at the moment he’s at his best. Twenty minutes later, Himura is back with her evidence bagged, and five minutes after that a team is on their way to Mikami’s home. It’s efficient. It’s exactly how L likes it.

In the morning, he’ll call Light, and he’ll call the Countermeasures team, and he’ll call Near.

For now, though, he has a cell to prepare.


	16. neat freak

Light has barely gotten to sleep before he’s woken by a ringing in his ear.

He has to fumble around in the dark for a few moments; the sun hasn’t risen yet. The pre-dawn sky isn’t even tinged with the slightest trace of blue, just the dull electric shine of the street lamp outside at the corner. 

His phone is on the shelf above his bed, and he manages to retrieve it without knocking all of his decorations to the floor. The caller ID reads: _Unknown Number_. Light doesn’t need it to know who is calling him at this hour.

“Hello?” he asks, voice thick with sleep.

L’s voice filters out of the device’s speakers a moment later. “Light. Did I wake you?”

Light huffs, pushing himself up onto an elbow. “Of course you did. What is it?”

“My apologies,” L says, though he doesn’t sound sincere in the slightest. He rarely does. “But I need you to come back to the office.”

This is annoying. Exciting, of course, since it means that something important is happening, but—

“I only just got back,” Light snaps, feeling cross with L. “Why can’t you wait until morning? Or let me stay over in the first place?”

L is quiet for a moment, and then says, “I’m sorry. I needed some privacy, but it’s imperative that Light comes before the task force does. I have Mikami Teru in custody.”

Light sits up straight in bed. “Already?” he asks. “You said you would call me when you got the business card.”

“I decided not to waste Light’s time,” L replies. “Just come to the hotel. I’ll explain everything.”

Heaving a sigh, Light runs his hand through his hair. He can feel it sticking up in places from the few hours of terrible sleep he managed. “Fine. I’ll be a little late, I have to walk.”

“No matter,” L answers instantly. “Watari will come pick you up. He knows the way.” 

Before Light can complain, L hangs up. What a bastard.

Light clicks on the standing lamp over his bed, which washes the room in a warm yellow light. At least he got to get changed, he reasons—his outfit from the day before is scuffed and dirty from the fight in the warehouse. He’s been wearing the same black blazer on rotation, since it’s the most formal thing he owns, but he supposes that one of his plaid button-ups will do while it’s in the wash.

He didn’t get dinner thanks to Sayu’s little mishap, but he definitely doesn’t have time to make himself a meal, so once he’s dressed he pockets his phone and heads downstairs. There is still a basket full of apples on the table—they’ve been a family staple for years, but without Ryuk around, Light can actually eat one himself for once. 

As Light bites into one, he pauses, examining the basket of fruit. Then he takes the whole thing and heads to the front door, biting into the apple and holding it with his teeth while he takes off his house slippers and replaces them with his sneakers. 

Watari shows up about five minutes later in a nondescript black van. As Light approaches, the back door slides open automatically, and he piles in with his basket of apples. 

“Hello, Watari,” Light greets him. 

Watari doesn’t answer, which is unusual for him; Light gets the distinct impression that the old man is ignoring him. It makes Light shift uncomfortably in the seat—he can guess why Watari might be angry with him, but it’s extremely strange to be on the kindly old man’s bad side, especially since Light is rather fond of Watari.

The fifteen minute drive to Countermeasures is driven in silence, and so is the following walk and elevator ride. Light even imagines Watari sprays him with disinfectant a little more brusquely than usual. 

They walk into the office and Light is almost immediately walked into by L, who seems to have been pacing again. He’s limping even more heavily than he was before, like he’s been stomping around on his foot the whole time Light was gone. L grabs him by the sleeve and drags him to the desk, which Light allows despite his utter bafflement.

“What’s the rush?” Light asks as L collapses into his office chair. He’s sitting with a push-to-talk microphone and his laptop in front of him, although the screen—and all the screens in Countermeasures, for that matter—is currently dark.

“The rush is that we need to act quickly, before the Countermeasures team wakes up,” L answers. “Sit down.”

Light doesn’t sit. “But what are we _doing?_ ” 

L reaches up and grabs him by the sleeve again in an attempt to tug him into his seat. “We’re interrogating the Second Kira, Light.”

Yielding to L’s efforts, Light places the basket of apples on the desk and sits in the chair beside L, scooting closer. “But Mikami isn’t the Second Kira. If we interrogate him, he could blow it wide open.”

“That is why we’re alone,” L tells him, like it’s obvious. “And as I said, we need to act quickly, so if you have any more questions please ask them quickly.”

Like always, L is moving things along so quickly that Light feels dizzy. Light’s tone is almost accusing as he says, “You said you would explain things.” It’s not a question.

“I will,” L promises again. “After the interrogation.” Then he presses a button on his computer and the screens on the far wall light up.

All six display the familiar sight of a Countermeasures cell. Light vaguely recognizes the man inside from that day during the Yotsuba investigation. Mikami is sitting on the edge of the bed in a similar outfit to the one that Light had worn during his confinement, his hands cuffed behind his back.

“Mikami really is the new Kira?” Light asks after a moment of looking at the screens.

“Indeed,” L confirms. “I had a team in full hazardous materials suits search his office and his home for a Note. It was in his desk.”

Light nods. “I see. Do you have it with you?” 

L looks from the screens to Light, suddenly scrutinizing him. “I do. What for?”

Sheepishly, Light gestures to the basket on the table. L’s gaze follows the movement and he stares at the basket like it’s a bomb that he’s only noticed just now. 

“I wanted to, um, see the Shinigami,” Light answers. “It’s kind of dumb. He likes apples.”

L continues staring at the foreign object in his space for a few moments before he raises a hand. “Watari,” he calls. “Get the Note.”

From his sitting area, Watari bursts into activity, bustling past them over to the desks against the wall. There’s a safe there now, a little handheld thing, and Watari brings it over and passes it to L by the handle. L’s hand dips significantly with the weight of it before he moves to put it on the desk. 

“Thank you, Watari,” L says. “You should go now. It’s late.”

Watari shakes his head, grumbling something that sounds like _willful_ under his breath. He turns on a heel and disappears into the door by the Lucky Charge cabinet. L doesn’t watch him go, turning his attention solely on the metal case.

It’s locked with both a key and a combination, the former of which L pulls out of his pocket and twists in the lock and the latter of which L noticeably turns away from Light to type in. The lack of trust rankles, just a little bit, but Light also knows that L has a paranoid streak half a mile long and it probably isn’t personal, especially given that if Light wanted to kill L he would have already.

The case pops open with a click. Inside is a familiar bright red notebook wrapped in clear plastic, which L takes out gingerly. The other Note isn’t inside—Light assumes L is keeping them separate for safety’s sake. With a quiet crinkling, L unwraps the package and holds the notebook out to Light.

Light reaches out to touch it and almost immediately is distracted by the figure to his right.

“Light!” Ryuk crows, abruptly leaning into Light’s space. The fish-eyed Shinigami ogles him from mere inches away, permanent leer in place. “Long time no see!”

“Ryuk,” Light greets right back. He takes an apple from the basket and holds it out. “Here. I figured it’s been a while.”

Ryuk takes the apple in one of his elongated black hands and tosses it in the air, catching it in his sharklike teeth and practically eating it whole. His whole body shudders gleefully. “I knew I should have stuck with you. Rem isn’t even taking advantage, hovering around the Notebook all day.”

L turns his chair to look up at Ryuk, which makes the Shinigami jolt somewhat. “Uh, Light,” he says, “I don’t know if you know this, but L is right there. What’s the deal?”

“L knows I’m Kira,” Light replies, making Ryuk gape in surprise. “We came to an agreement.”

Ryuk recovers after a few moments. “You made a deal? Didn’t think that was on the table. What’s the plan now?”

Breaking in, L says, “The plan is to talk with Mikami. Can we do that now?” His tone is impatient.

Light turns back to the far screens, squinting at the sitting form of Mikami. “Right,” he says. “Go ahead.”

L, too, returns his attention to the man on the screens. He reaches out, pressing the button on the microphone. The speakers in the room on the screen crackle to life.

“Mikami Teru,” he intones.

The man looks up. He’s sitting very primly at the edge of the bed despite his hunched posture. He doesn’t answer.

Undeterred, L continues on. “I’m sure you understand the situation you’re in. We acquired a warrant to go through your place of work and your home, and we found in your possession a Death Note. From our arrest of Kira, we know this to be legitimate. Better evidence than a confession.”

Mikami finally speaks up at this. “Then why are you here?” he asks. “If you don’t need a confession, then I fail to see why you’re speaking to me.”

“I would like to clarify some things,” L replies. “If you play along, this won’t take any time at all.”

Light thinks that’s a funny way to put it. _Play along._ Not _cooperate._

On the screen, Mikami stares up at the cameras. He doesn’t answer.

“Are you the Second Kira?” L asks patiently, despite the fact that he should well know Mikami isn’t and won’t say he is.

“I wouldn’t use that name,” Mikami replies stiffly. “I am an extension of God’s will.”

L quirks his head to the side, interested. “Do you see Kira as God?”

“God is justice,” the man on the TV says. “Kira is justice.”

“And you are aware that Kira is dead?” L asks. “We caught him. He’s been executed.” His tone is mild, but Light knows that he intends to aggravate.

To Mikami’s credit, he doesn’t rise to the bait. “God can’t be killed,” he scoffs. “I just told you. God has always existed; Kira is a manifestation of God.” 

L crosses his leg over his knee. “So you think of yourself as the next manifestation?”

“Never,” Mikami replies, straightening. “God knows me, but I’m only a man.”

“A man with the power of God?” 

“With the power of justice.”

Light finds that he likes Mikami. He thinks that, if the circumstances were different, he would have been excellent to work with. It makes him question, just a little bit, what he’s doing here.

“Your logic is interesting,” L points out, but doesn’t elaborate on that any further. Instead, he asks, “What is your connection to Amane Misa?”

This makes Mikami clam up, of all things. He was certainly fine talking just a moment ago, so it isn’t a matter of incriminating himself.

L presses onward. “You were her prosecutor in the case of her parents’ murders, correct?”

“Correct,” Mikami replies after a moment.

“The same case that saw the defendant go free. Was that frustrating for you?”

“I’m not sure how this is relevant.”

L props his jaw on his hand. “I’m sure you know that Nishida—the defendant—was killed shortly after his release, yes?”

Derision is rolling off of Mikami like a wave. “Yes.”

“I submit that you killed Nishida,” L drawls. “It would be just, would it not? Are you not an extension of justice?”

Mikami doesn’t answer, but he looks distinctly annoyed. Light wonders why he doesn’t clear his name; Light is the one who killed Nishida, after all. He would expect for Mikami to argue, but he just sits in silence.

“No answer?” L asks. “I’ll just continue, then. I’m sure you didn’t know this—it wasn’t revealed to the public—but Amane Misa was arrested on suspicion of being the Second Kira. The notes sent to the press contained evidence linking them to her, but you knew Amane. Would that not put you in the unique position to collect evidence off of her and plant it on the notes?”

Mikami might as well be made of stone. If it were Light in the room, he would be biting at the bit to clear his name. Maybe he wouldn’t be such a good partner, after all.

Unless—

Light nudges L, who turns off the microphone for a moment. “He’s a Kira supporter,” he says. “He doesn’t want to incriminate Misa—or me.”

L looks at Light for a few moments, scrutinizing, before looking back at the screen. “A martyr?” he muses, raising a hand to tap his chin. “Well, that makes things easier for me.”

L reaches back out and presses the mic button. “Mikami Teru. Kira possesses the ability to control the actions of others. Did you control Amane Misa in order to make her appear as though she was the Second Kira?” 

Shoulders squared-off, it seems like Mikami doesn’t intend on answering, but he finally says: “You already know the answer, don't you?”

“Yes or no, please.”

“Do you know?” Mikami demands. “Do you know God?”

L heaves a sigh. “I don’t know what you mean. Yes or no, did you incriminate Amane Misa?”

And, while Light holds his breath, Mikami says: “Yes.”

* * *

“That went far better than I expected,” L admits later, sitting at the desk with Light.

Light is inclined to agree. “I thought he was going to reveal Misa. We’ve never even met.”

L clicks his tongue, typing on his laptop as he speaks. He types like someone who’s never touched a computer before, with only his index fingers, but he does it remarkably quickly. It’s always been baffling to Light. “Indeed. We’ll only need to doctor a little bit of it, particularly at the end there. There’s no need to incriminate us, after all.”

“Doctor it?” Light asks. “What does that mean?”

L’s smile is crooked. “It’s the whole reason I wanted to do this so early. I’m sending the footage to Babel to edit. A few cuts here and there, a few replacements, and it’s the perfect confession.”

Light sputters somewhat. He knows L is unscrupulous—God, does he know—but outright tampering with evidence is a lot, even for him. “You can’t do that.”

“Oh, please.” L isn’t even off-put by Light’s complaining, judging from his expression. “I’m not even changing the confession. Mikami said everything he needs to say to implicate himself. I’m just making sure that Amane, and by extension you, aren’t dragged along with him.”

This doesn’t sit well. Light thinks of the feeling he’d gotten watching Mikami talk about him, about Kira. He remembers being the one in the cell. “What are you planning on doing with Mikami after he confesses?”

L doesn’t so much as look up. “I plan on leaving it up to the Japanese government. He’ll most likely receive the capital punishment, however.”

“And you think that’s all right?” Light demands. “Why not me or Misa?”

This catches L’s attention, and he meets Light’s gaze with his own owl-like stare. “I told you, Light. We’re clearing your name. If that requires these measures, so be it.”

“But that’s not fair,” Light complains weakly. “He’s done the same things as us.”

To his surprise, L rolls his chair closer to Light’s, reaching out and grabbing Light’s arm. “Light,” he says slowly, “This is the only route where you live. Do you understand? I am doing this so that you have the opportunity. Either Mikami goes alone, or you all go, and he seems to realize as much.”

L’s other hand rises and cups Light’s cheek. Light wonders if L’s hands are naturally that cold or if his face is just burning hot right now. 

“Don’t throw your life away,” L says quietly. “Can you do that?”

Light swallows, hard.

“I can.”

* * *

Light is on his way up the elevator, mulling over the events of the night. It’s hard to put a finger on exactly what he’s feeling. He doesn’t want to get Mikami executed; he doesn’t know the man, but something about getting someone killed who’s just filling his shoes, who is saying all of the things Light himself believes—or wants to believe—is an uncomfortable thought. He’d said as much to L, wanted to say more, but something about the look on L’s face as he asked Light not to throw his life away made Light hesitate to argue with him. Which is strange, because Light is usually excellent at arguing with L. 

And L has been very physical with him in the last twenty-four hours. Light isn’t sure what to make of it, although the man has always been so devoid of boundaries that it isn’t exactly a stretch. It’s just strange for it to be a tool of what seems to be affection rather than inspection.

Or maybe L is just manipulating him. Physical touch is an important part of that, isn’t that what they say? Maybe Light is just an idiot.

While Light is mulling this over, a shadow to his right makes him jolt as Ryuk appears, flapping his wings as he flies up through the floor. They fold up and disappear as he enters, and after a moment he’s standing next to Light as though he’d been there the whole time.

“Yo,” he says.

“Ryuk. I wasn’t expecting you,” Light replies, adjusting the front of his shirt which had ridden up when he had been startled. “Shouldn’t you be with Mikami?”

“He’s not doing anything,” Ryuk whines. “And anyway, you have all the apples. Speaking of…”

With a sigh, Light tosses Ryuk the last apple from the basket. Ryuk catches it mid-air with his teeth and gobbles it up so quickly that apple juice doesn’t even have the chance to dribble from his jaws.

“Yum!” the Shinigami crows. “Thanks. So anyways, what’s the deal with L?”

“I already told you. We came to an agreement.”

Ryuk waves a ringed hand in the air. “Sure, sure. But I mean after that. Is he gonna let you keep being Kira?”

Light frowns, jamming his hands in his pockets as the doors of the elevator open to the floor he’s been sleeping in. Stepping out, he habitually ducks his head down so the security cameras don’t see him talking to Ryuk; realizing what he’s done, he straightens up again and starts walking to his door.

“No,” he says. “I’m going to work with him from now on.”

Ryuk’s jaw practically drops to the floor as he follows behind Light. “What? But what about the great hero Kira? You’re giving up on it?”

This rankles. Light sends a pointed glare Ryuk’s way before he continues, “I’m still going to be working. Just without the Note.”

“That’s no fun,” Ryuk grumbles, clearly annoyed by the situation. “I thought you had dreams. What’s the point if you’re going to quit halfway?”

“I told you, I’m not quitting,” Light snaps. He stops, fist going out to hit the wall beside him with a loud knocking sound. Ryuk jumps, all eight feet of him. “This is the best way, no, the _only way_ forward.”

After a moment of stunned silence, Ryuk lets out a chuckle, and that chuckle turns into a laugh. “Ha ha ha. That’s funny. I wonder if that’s true?” He raises his finger and taps the side of his gaunt jaw in mock contemplation. “I wonder.”

Then, with another flap of his dark wings, Ryuk is gone and Light is alone in the hallway.


	17. the past is a grotesque animal

It isn’t until the Countermeasures team rejoins him in the office the next day and, with the exception of Light and Himura, all learn about their new suspect at once that L realizes that he’s gotten ahead of himself.

“Since when do we even have a lead?” Matsuda asks, utterly baffled.

There was virtually no time between his encounter with Light where he had, in essence, announced to everyone that Light was still his main suspect and him arresting Mikami. All of the discussion had happened with Light and Light alone, which means that from the task force’s point of view, they had gone home with zero leads and arrived at work the next day with not only a suspect, but a man in custody. With a confession, even.

It’s kind of a bad look for him.

“Light and I have been brainstorming leads,” L replies, fully aware that his actions must seem rash to them. He’s sitting sideways in the armchair by the main office table, kicking his feet idly as he speaks. “I’ll be the first to admit that my suspicion of him clouded my deductive ability. Now that I have no doubt in him, we were able to cast that suspicion elsewhere.”

Aizawa speaks up. “Right, so you’ve stopped accusing Light. But where did this guy even come from? We’ve been getting nothing for ages.”

L folds his hands on his desk. “I can have Watari print off the file for you to review, but we discovered that many of the newest victims were related to court cases attended to by the same public prosecutor’s office.” This is not technically a lie; Mikami had been cleaning up his record, so to speak. “From there, it was a matter of finding out that one in particular had a connection to Amane Misa.”

“Amane Misa was released,” Soichiro says. “Are you saying that you think she was involved?”

This makes L shake his head. “No, I’m saying that he wanted us to believe that Amane was involved all along. His position working for her gave him the perfect opportunity to collect her fingerprints and hair and plant them on the threatening letters.”

Matsuda scratches his neck. “I don’t get it. Why would he do that?”

“The first murder affiliated with his office was of the killer of Amane Misa’s parents. I believe this gave him the idea to frame her,” L explains. “It would—and did—successfully throw us for a loop investigating her, as well as Light.”

The task force goes silent for a few moments, absorbing this. It’s a little hard to believe, and L will admit it freely, but fortunately for him the evidence accounts for itself.

Soichiro indicates the papers scattered on the work table; photocopies of a bright red Note with illegible text on the cover. “This is his Note?”

L nods. “Indeed. It was discovered in his home last night. He was just a theory before then, but I suppose I got lucky.”

“No kidding,” Mogi says.

Light, sitting at the desk, has been quiet the whole time. L assumes it’s because he doesn’t know where he fits in with this whole situation; that’s just fine for L. 

L says, “I intend on interrogating him for the first time in a moment, if you all would like to listen.”

Light doesn’t speak, but he looks up sharply and gives L a questioning look. L can practically hear him: _What are you doing? We already interrogated him. I thought we had a plan._

The rest of the task force murmur their agreements, and L hops right up out of the chair and leads them all over to his desk. 

This, just like the rest of this case has been, is just a performance. The only difference is that this time, L is the one performing, the one who needs to convince them all of a lie. Fortunately, L is a spectacular liar.

Just like last night, L presses a button on his computer and the far wall lights up as the monitors flick on in unison; and just like last night, Mikami is sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands cuffed behind his back.

L knows his script. He presses the microphone. “Mikami Teru,” he intones again.

The man looks up, silent.

“I’m sure you understand the situation you’re in,” L recites. “We acquired a warrant to go through your place of work and your home, and we found in your possession a Death Note. From our arrest of Kira, we know this to be legitimate. Better evidence than a confession.”

L can feel Light gaping beside him. He supposes that he hadn’t expected this when L had said he’d doctor the tapes.

The Mikami on screen pauses uncannily before asking, “Then why are you here? If you don’t need a confession, then I fail to see why you’re speaking to me.”

“I would like to clarify some things,” L replies. “This won’t take any time at all.”

Mikami stares up at the cameras. He doesn’t answer.

“Are you the Second Kira?” L asks.

“I wouldn’t use that name,” Mikami replies stiffly. “I am an extension of God’s will.”

L has heard this all before. In fact, it all goes precisely the same, every word, carefully rehearsed by him. Mikami is nothing but a recording.

L watches the Task Force out of the corner of his eye, to see if they’re buying it. All of them but Light have their attention on the screen.

There comes a point, however, where there is a change, right after L recites his question about Mikami’s involvement with Misa:

“...Would that not put you in the unique position to collect evidence off of her and plant it on the notes?”

No answer.

“Mikami Teru,” L says. “Kira possesses the ability to control the actions of others. Did you control Amane Misa in order to make her appear as though she was the Second Kira?” 

Here, there’s a slight glitch of the cameras. It’s nearly imperceptible, unless you know to look. L doubts even Light managed to catch it. The video skips ahead by about half a minute.

Mikami signs his death sentence: “Yes.”

* * *

The task force leaves L’s office for the final time in a jovial mood. The issue of Mikami Teru’s trial and execution will be held in secret by the Japanese government, which is to say it’s officially out of their hands. Mikami has been sent away, and the Notes—well. 

Officially, the Notes will be collected by the Japanese government, so that they can be properly sealed behind closed doors and protected from outside abuse. There is no doubt in L’s mind that they’re to be placed in some kind of vault, the kind that needs professional ID and fingerprint scans and such measures to enter. The Prime Minister will likely make some kind of announcement that Kira’s killing power has been disposed of.

In reality, the versions given to the Japanese government will be perfect replicas of the originals. It’s impossible to tell the difference without actually writing in them, and no-one can argue that they’re fake without admitting that they’ve done just that. The originals will be kept in a secret location by L himself—letting the Notes be given to any governing body is just as dangerous as letting an individual use them, after all.

“Let’s go get a drink!” Matsuda crows as they all gather their things. Aizawa and even Mogi practically cheer in agreement.

“I’m going to go check in with Goda and debrief,” Soichiro replies, a gentle rejection. “You can all go have fun.”

L sidles quietly up to Light, who is standing at the office table, looking quietly frazzled. He keeps his voice low as he asks, “Going to go celebrate?”

Light shoots him an exasperated look. “You know I can’t do that,” he whispers back under the din of the other officers.

“Why not?” L asks, genuinely curious. “Is this not cause to celebrate?”

Light opens his mouth, seemingly to argue, but then it snaps shut and a genuinely gleeful expression crosses his face. It makes L feel uneasy.

“You know what,” he says, and then startles L by wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “I’ll take you up on that. Let’s go to the bar.”

“Me?” L asks, startled.

“You invited me, didn’t you?” Light asks, disingenuous. “Come on. I know a place.”

Light begins the process of manhandling L out of the office, which makes Matsuda in particular cheer. L recalls similar noise at the Ichigo Berry concert. To L’s relief, they separate from Matsuda and the others in the lobby.

“Light didn’t drive here,” L comments as they exit the Oriental East Hotel. His ankle is already hurting. “How are we going to get there?”

Light gives him a funny look. “The bus?”

This is a nightmare.

* * *

L expects to end up at a bar after they board the bus and begin a profoundly uncomfortable twenty minute ride, which L knows because he counted every minute in his head. He can’t stop thinking about how many people must have sat in his seat that day and put their bare hands on the metal handrails. He wishes he’d had the opportunity to bring a mask. 

Instead of a bar, however, they end up standing in front of a building that L has only seen pictures of. It’s a quaint little house with a stone plaque in front that reads YAGAMI.

“You brought me to your house?” L asks, baffled.

“It’s private,” Light answers by way of explanation.

L scratches his cheek. “I was expecting a bar.”

This makes Light laugh. “You were going to let me drag you to a bar?”

It sounds very silly when Light says it, especially considering that Light’s hand has been in the crook of L’s arm since they left, guiding him all the way to his destination. L could have said no at any point, but he didn’t. How odd.

When they enter Light’s home, L stares down at him as he begins taking off his shoes.

Light looks up at L. “Aren’t you going to take your shoes off?”

L grimaces. “I don’t have anything else.”

Light offers him a pair of house slippers, the kind intended for guests, but at the disgusted expression L gives him Light just shakes his head and drops the issue.

Light’s sister—Sayu was her name—is sitting in the living room as they exit the entranceway. She doesn’t look up as she says, “Light, I’m hungry.”

“Cook for yourself,” Light replies. “I have a guest.”

This makes Sayu perk up. “Oh? Who is it— _wow._ ” She’d turned her head and spotted L as she was speaking. Nearly jumping out of her seat, she hops over to the two of them. “Light, who’s your friend?”

Light rolls his eyes. “This is Ryuga.”

“Ryuga?” she asks.

L speaks up. “Yes. Like Hideki Ryuga. We just so happen to share a name.”

Sayu looks like she’s going to pass out. “Really? That’s so cool…”

Before this interaction can go on any longer, Light pulls on L’s arm and begins shepherding him to a staircase leading to the second floor. “All right, Sayu. See you later,” Light calls. 

“You’re no fun!” Sayu huffs from behind them. “Let me meet your friend!”

Light shakes his head, muttering something that sounds like _fat chance_ as they ascend the stairs, out of sight. 

“Your sister is interesting,” L comments dryly as they enter Light’s room. L has seen it on camera, but it’s different in person. As Light turns on the lights, bathing the room in a warm yellow hue, L finds it’s quite nice. 

There are dozens of little knick-knacks dotted around the room that catch L’s interest. He ends up setting his attention on a penguin that inexplicably has a shelf to itself right inside the door. Reaching up, L strokes it with a hand. It’s soft and plush to the touch.

Light seems to find this amusing. He’s sitting in his desk chair, having turned it around to face L. “Are you having fun?” he asks.

L frowns at the question. “Should I be?”

Light shakes his head. “Nevermind.”

Leaving the penguin behind, L instead chooses to sit on Light’s bed, delicately crossing his legs. The two of them stare at each other for a few quiet moments.

Light breaks the ice. “So… what kind of name is L, anyways?”

Giving Light an incredulous look, L responds with, “Did you really bring me here to ask me about my name?”

“No!” Light replies, defensive. “I just… didn’t know where to start.”

L shakes his head. He supposes there’s no harm in answering Light’s question, though, even if it’s a topic he doesn’t normally broach even with his family. It brings to mind unfortunate memories.

“It’s not my birth name,” L replies, clearly startling Light with the answer.

After Light seems to get over the shock of L answering at all, he asks, “But Rem said that was your name.”

“It is,” L confirms. “I have no idea what’s on my birth certificate. I chose my name after I was brought to the orphanage Watari owned.”

This is probably a lot for Light to process. He doesn’t say anything for a few moments. “Why didn’t you know your name?”

“I forgot it,” L answers mildly, as though this is a normal occurrence. “I was young and had been through quite a bit. Watari allowed me to choose my name. And my birthday, for that matter, although I just chose the closest holiday.”

“What holiday?” Light asks, and L can’t tell if he’s being polite or genuinely curious.

“Halloween.”

Light’s brow furrows. “Halloween was a week ago.”

“Indeed.”

Light gapes at L. “You didn’t tell me your birthday was a week ago.”

“I just did.”

L half expects Light to jump out of his seat and throttle him. He can’t imagine why; L never celebrates his birthday, not in a traditional fashion, and certainly not with the lead suspect of his case. Even the lead suspect that he previously invited to be his partner.

“You’re terrible,” Light finally says, and he laughs. It’s a long, guffawing noise, and L finds it infectious—he ends up laughing too, a bright, trilling noise that plays a gentle accompaniment to Light’s deep cackle. 

“Thank you for inviting me,” L says once it’s over, his voice rich with amusement still. “It’s nice seeing your home in person, and not on a screen.”

Light scoffs, though his smile doesn’t fall. “God, don’t remind me about that. That was such a pain.”

Before he continues, L scoots back on Light’s bed, deciding he’d rather sit with his legs crossed. “How could you tell?” he asks. “You had an uncanny ability to always be doing things just out of sight of the cameras.”

“Ryuk told me where they all were,” Light informs him. “I just bribed him.”

“That’s unfair,” L complains. “Light had such an advantage over me.”

This makes Light frown, and he bends over to rest his elbows on his knees. He directs L with a scrutinizing stare that might make a different person uncomfortable, but L is used to such things.

“But you caught me,” Light says. He fidgets with a stray thread on his sleeve. “And then you let me go. I still don’t—I still don’t understand. I know that you want to work with me, but why? You don’t need me.”

There are many things that L could say to this, and he knows it. 

He could say: _I won the game. You lost. That’s all._

He could say: _Light is my friend. I would prefer not to kill him._

He could say: _You have so much potential. I want you to grow, and I want to be there to see it._

What actually comes out of his mouth is, “Light saved my life when he took that bullet for me. He spared it again the other day. It would be cruel of me not to return the favor.”

Light’s expression pinches in frustration. L doesn’t understand why until he asks, “Is that all? Because you think you owe me something?”

The answer is no, the answer has been no since the very moment that L began to believe in Light’s innocence in earnest, but this is a topic that L doesn’t know how to broach, that his infinite well of knowledge doesn’t know how to parse. L wants to reach out and grab Light by the collar and shake him, like Light used to do to him, as though to shake some sense into him. _Of course that’s not all, you silly man._

L does not say this. Instead, he smiles wryly at Light and says, “Does it need to be anything else?”

Light stares at L for a few moments before letting out a sigh. He smiles back, a thin upturning of the lips that doesn’t light up his face like the moment of joy a few minutes ago.

“I suppose not,” Light says, and L wishes he’d said more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER comes with an ILLUSTRATION commissioned by my friend from the INCREDIBLE pecquacti on twitter!!!! take a look here: https://twitter.com/pecquacti/status/1353461647583670274


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